


What Happens in Melbourne, Stays in Melbourne

by hillbillied



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Sloppy Makeouts, These Two Idiots are so Fucking Stupid They Both Think They're the Only Queer in the Billet, angst with a sexy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillbillied/pseuds/hillbillied
Summary: Andy doesn't have much sexual experience to brag about, even if he was able to brag about his relations with other men. Luckily, Eddie's not so inexperienced. He's been in the Marines for almost a decade, after all.
Relationships: Andrew A. "Ack-Ack" Haldane/Edward "Hillbilly" Jones
Comments: 16
Kudos: 29
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was originally a fic just about two idiots falling in love in Melbourne and dancing around each other like fools, then it got combined with the prompt: "Eddie's spent years as a seagoing Marine and is very sexually experienced. In contrast, Andy has very little experience or no experience at all." from the Loose Lips Sink Ship's prompt meme! And it's only divided into two chapters because it's accidentally 20k words, most of it porn. (It also didn't post properly the first time wrong, cheers Ao3.)
> 
> Alternative title: God Bless the Navy.

At what exact point Eddie blinked and noticed his homosexuality can be left for the good Lord to decipher. (He doesn’t much care for anniversaries. He’d forget his own birthday if he could.)

Somewhere around aged eighteen, if bets are being placed. Up until then, it’d been all uncomfortable boners and avoidance of Mary-Ann Wright from the next house over. (She’d been so damn persistent, he almost felt bad about fixing her daddy’s truck twice, like he was teasing her with his presence. Luckily, her family would never approve of the union.)

Then that Dutchman had turned up – Eddie pretends he doesn’t remember his name but he sure as fuck does, among other things – who the whole community humoured. Nice folk smile at quirky strangers from far away who just want to paint Appalachia’s hillsides.

What Eddie never forgot was the course fabric of that Dutchman’s suit. Or his dark hair or his circular spectacles or the vibrant colours of his oil paints. How their hands felt when they touched, lingering a moment longer than necessary. How hard Eddie’s heart had pounded or how thick he’d swallowed or how shaky his fingers had been, vibrating with excitement where he struggled to unbuckle his belt.

For legal purposes, he claims he visited that Dutchman’s rented cabin to help him fix a leak in the roof. And a couple more odd-jobs over several months, something about helping with his plumbing or greasing his tailpipe. Hold the crude applause. (Unlike Mary-Ann’s daddy, the man didn’t own a car.)

It had been an excellent summer, that one. Saved Eddie from tearing his hair out in frustration, wondering why all the other young men were hollering about how they got head up by the old creek. (Affectionately called ‘Bareback Creek’ in those days.)

Head from girls, of course. You could brag about that.

And the Jones’ clan’s eldest remained the laughingstock of the community. Though admittedly, at the time, that probably wasn’t because he was missing third base with Mary-Ann. (Eddie hadn’t been batting, full stop, but everybody assumed he was. He was – still is – playing for an entirely different team.)

It was because nobody liked his daddy and, by extension, his shithead children. Of which there were many, in true hillbilly fashion.

Chalk it down to his first experience, then. That could be dated, and the date was summer, 1935.

He joined the Marine Corps shortly after. Same year, actually, trading his worn jeans for the meanest pair of boots he ever saw.

Something to do with his daddy getting wind of the ‘unnatural relationship’ that may or may not have been occurring between his eldest son and that stranger from Holland. He’d caught a glimpse of it with his own two eyes, otherwise he wouldn’t have believed it. (Eddie had been reckless then. Ten times stupider than he considers himself now.)

His daddy probably never confirmed the truth to their nice, shitty community. It’d bring down the whole tone of the place, shame on the family. He kept his trap shut and he booted Eddie out without ceremony. Waving his busted-ass shotgun for emphasis. Dramatic cunt.

Go die for your country, that was the ultimatum. And if he doesn’t die, well, the whole area has probably been told he already did.

No eldest son of the Jones family existed anymore. Not to his daddy, anyway, who claimed he didn’t raise no faggot under his roof. Hilarious, Eddie remembers laughing to himself as he walked away that evening, looking to catch a ride up to Pittsburgh.

Somebody sure raised a faggot because he's queer as they come.

But who cares about any of that. Nobody’s asking when he decided sucking cock was the ‘lifestyle’ he wanted to pursue.

Better for him to leave anyway. He’d reached Pittsburgh with about two dollars in his pocket and found a recruitment office offering a dotted line to sign.

The Marines Corps is a great fit for him. Always had been, always will be. It’s adjacent to the Navy, you see.

God Bless the Navy.

A few years into being a marine and Corporal Jones has learned to read interest versus mockery.

There are two answers to the question “You some kinda faggot?” and only one is ever appropriate. Choose wisely. It’s a dangerous game.

If you lose, at best you’ll be going to bed stiff and lonely. At worst, you might get a fist across the jaw. Or the worse-worse option, but Eddie doesn’t think about that. He’s aware of it and he acknowledges it and then he carries on with his ‘lifestyle’ regardless.

So, then. Is he some kind of faggot.

He glances up from where he’s reading on his bunk. It’s a welcome distraction; he’s a slow reader, having to squint at the faded print until his temples ache. He finds the man questioning him in the doorway, hanging on the metal of the overhang. They’re alone.

It’s his buddy from the ship’s canteen. A sergeant. (Or equivalent.) Peterson, maybe. Again, who cares. They’ve only met a handful of times. He’ll go with Peterson, since he can glimpse the ‘P’ on his blue shirt.

Peterson (or equivalent) is a _sailor_.

The answer changes to fit that observation. Eddie places a scrap of ass-wipe in between his pages and closes his book. He doesn’t look up as he speaks. Better to appear casual and ensure he can backpedal later. (And because he’s not fucking desperate. Which makes _one_ of them.)

“Would that excite you?” Eddie asks.

It’s not quite the ‘ _Yep._ ’ he sometimes gives but this man doesn’t deserve that kind of candidness. Not until Hillbilly’s learnt if he’s any good in the sack, anyway.

Peterson smiles. The metal door squeaks shut as he steps inside. Eddie gives him a dark, pointed stare. A short flick of his eyes downward and he can see the outline of the man’s cock through his pants. Goddamn eager beaver, how will they deal with the scandal.

The marine shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. Fucking sailors would be the blissful death of him.

At least he doesn’t have to get up to salute or anything, Peterson’s knee already creaking the metal of his cot. The man hovers over him, hesitating for a fraction of a second. Just in case this is some kind of ruse, like somebody’s misread somebody else’s erection.

Hillbilly gets impatient in that fraction of a second. He closes the gap between their mouths and forces them into a hard kiss. He’s a busy man, he’d like to hop to it, and these battered novels aren’t going to read themselves. It’s all the jumpstart the situation needs and Peterson’s quick to take a fistful of his shirt.

The kissing’s rough and the grinding’s electrifying. It means Eddie has to flail blindly with his outstretched arm for a moment, grabbing at the canvas bags hanging from the top bunk. He drags out what he needs eventually. Peterson bites down on his lip and the marine lets out a guttural growl.

He pushes the sailor away, who chuckles menacingly and grabs his curls, tugging their mouths back together. Apparently, they weren’t done yet. Hillbilly rewards him with a moan and a thrust of his hips, making damn sure their cocks grind together through their clothes.

When he shoves the man away a second time, it’s harder, enough to leave a bruise and show he’s serious this time.

He tosses a condom against Peterson’s chest. “Put that on.” He demands.

He’d do it himself but he’s busy ripping open his pants. And he really can’t be bothered.

This is a petty officer, third class, not some entitled ensign. He can wrap his own damn cock as far as Eddie’s concerned.

‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ is an underappreciated gem of a statement, in Hillbilly’s opinion.

It’s slick, it’s easy, and it’s lead to some of the better sex he’s had. Which tends to be on dry land. (Such encounters can be found anywhere; majority doesn’t sway either way. It’s a fifty-fifty split between battleships and barracks. So long as he’s getting laid in both cases, who cares.)

Poker nights with enough hooch to fill an ammo crate are where the best fun can be found.

They’re camped on some California coast for a training exercise. Lucky them, it’s hot as fuck and the insects are going at it outside the tent canvas. All their shirts are off in the oppressive stickiness, his sergeant stripes lost to the sandy ground. They pass their warm beers around to stave off the thirst.

Beside Eddie, a private several years his junior falls off the back of his upturned crate. One too many and he’s down for the count. They all saw it coming but you gotta let them learn.

Nobody spares their passed-out comrade more than a sideways glance.

Craning his neck, Hillbilly scans the scattered cards that had been the kid’s hand until a moment ago. He hums sympathetically.

“Damn.” He mutters. “Four of a kind.”

Across from him, another marine in their now three-man game sighs heavily. “Fuck me.” He hisses.

He tosses his cards onto their makeshift table and moves over to pick up his buddy. They’re friends from before the corps; they talked about it during the game. Fresh blood and all that. It’s nice to invite a little variety into the conversation.

Their three-man game becomes a two-man game as the two privates – one walking, one limp as a sack of shit – exit the tent. Hangovers aren’t the worst thing to catch out here on the coastline so nobody’s concerned. Kid’ll sleep it off and then the real pain will begin; the merciless mockery of his comrades.

To his left, Hillbilly’s staff sergeant reaches out and flips the other discarded hand over. It reveals a terrible selection of cards. A losing ensemble.

“Fuck.” He huffs. “I wanted to win that shiny new pin off him, too.”

Eddie laughs around the cigarette he’s lighting. He likes his staff sergeant quite a bit. Man’s name is Pike and he’s older by a decade, maybe more if they’re being cruel. His broad chest is scattered with faded tattoos, far more than across Hillbilly’s skin and he’s been in the corps five years.

“You got anymore of them hidin’ under your dungarees?” Pike asks around the smoke between his teeth.

He leans over towards his sergeant. Without even asking, there’s a zippo ready for him, Eddie lighting his cigarette obediently. Old dogs like to teach convenient tricks. Taking a drag, the older marine gestures to the tattoos that aren’t his.

Hillbilly glances down at himself. There’s a black and red anchor on his hip – his first, traditional navy shit – and that’s the only colour. The large cross on his left shoulder and globe emblem on his right are dark against his tan. They’ve both seen the large Semper Fi written across the top of his back so it goes unmentioned. (He doesn’t have the verse from Deuteronomy yet or the snarling fox over his ribs, in recognition of his company’s namesake.)

Compared to the anchors, stars, and letters over his superior’s chest, it’s nothing. There’s more black ink on the man than there is untouched skin. The barking bulldog that covers Pike’s entire back is impressive, if nothing else. Go Devil Dogs.

Instead of answering truthfully, Eddie decides to lie.

“Maybe.” He says.

There’s tests that can be administered to situations like these. Low risk, high reward gambles. Key phrases, inserted easily into casual conversation or platonic exchanges.

Things that can become hot and heavy with a simple twist of the words.

Pike gives him a sneering smile. He nods approvingly. He’s been a marine longer than Eddie; he gets it.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He says.

Under the heat and the booze and the sweat beading at the back of his neck, Hillbilly feels his gut stir. A familiar sensation, bringing his eyes up to meet his company’s. Slowly and carefully, he places his cards back down on the table.

“You first.” He says.

Pike laughs. He tosses his hand down too. The cards slide into each other, muddling together, killing any hope of the game continuing. That’s alright, plans change.

“Where abouts is yours?” Eddie asks, keeping up the ruse to the bitter end.

His fingers bring his smoke back to his lips. He can see the fondly irritated look the other man sends his way. A silent warning, letting him know the score. They’re both aware Hillbilly’s not that stupid.

The sergeant concedes and changes his tune. “How big is it?” He asks slyly.

That has his superior laughing. Standing up from his upturned crate, cigarette between his teeth, Pike approaches his fellow marine. His pistol belt rattles where it’s tugged free and his pants' buttons are popped one by one.

“Think you got a pretty good idea, sergeant.” He says.

Excitement flashes in Eddie’s eyes where he glances up from beneath his curls. They exchange cocky grins.

Pike fists a hand in the front of dungarees and pushes down roughly. His cock springs free, half hard already. It’s taken in his hand as he lazily strokes himself.

His grip is quickly replaced by Hillbilly’s. His sergeant is well trained and the older of the two is content to thread his hands together, placing them behind his head so he can watch. Wouldn’t want to interrupt the service he’s about to receive.

Eddie’s fingers move slowly, up and down, running over the flushed and sweaty skin of his superior’s cock. His laugh is deep and rattling, pleased with himself as he turns his head away. He puts his smoke back to his lips and pulls in a deep drag, like he’s got all the time in the world.

The esteemed Edward ‘Hillbilly’ Jones has gotten good at certain things. Excellent, in fact, over a seven-year stint in the corps.

He’s been told such fairly frequently.

He ignores most of the talent list he’s provided. Lethal in hand-to-hand-combat, expert leadership abilities, a limitless supply of courage, unbreakable under pressure, strong as fuck, master marksmanship. All forgotten with a heat under his cheeks and a stare averted. He doesn’t take formal praise well.

Because none of that is believable to him.

What he can believe – and is _keen_ to remind challengers – is that he excels in one particular unappreciated area.

The top contender, the one he can’t say in polite company or advertise beyond night-time excursions. Something spoken in a hushed whisper, hot against another man’s ear, or muttered under flickering bar lights, after hours and covered by a gulp of whisky.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re good at sucking cock.” The man above Eddie pants out, his fingers tangled in damp curls.

It comes from another marine on this occasion. A rarity, of sorts. (Not really.)

Rarer than sailors – who are gifts upon the Lord’s earth, God Bless the Navy, you know the drill – but not as rare as the Marine Corps would like to claim.

Marines have more bullshit bravado to break through, is all. The game is twice as dangerous with them because they fear detection to an extreme degree and are willing to resort to fists far faster.

Eddie gets it. He’s the same, behind his confident façade. He needs this job; he loves this job. He’d hate to lose it to carelessness. (He _is not_ careless, by any definition of the word.)

There’s a distinct pop as he pulls his mouth off the corporal’s cock, a trail of saliva still connecting the head to his lips. His crooked smile is held down, kept small and unintimidating. He wants this guy to fuck him tonight and he’s not about to let pride or arrogance get in the way.

“I do m’ best.” He replies. He runs his tongue along the underside of the man’s shaft after he says it.

Slowly, enjoying the taste of flushed skin. The other marine’s head rolls back and hits the latrine wall. He moans desperately and barely stifles it.

Eddie shushes him with a chuckle. (The barracks are helpfully quiet tonight. Everyone’s getting ready to be shipped out to the Pacific, tensions are high. Most are relieving them with sleep.)

He gets back to work.

While he’s enjoyed more than his fair share of action with the marines, having cultivated his interests over the better part of a decade, it’s not all Eddie does.

It doesn’t take up a majority of his time – fucking fantastic as that would be – it’s a little thing that echoes out tenfold, making his life in the military bearable. He suits this life. He might even _like_ this life. (He doesn’t know the difference.)

When war is declared, he’s not scared of it. He’s more terrified of doing what his daddy told him to, for once. God forbid he actually dies for his country and his old man gets a free American flag out of it.

War doesn’t disrupt his already sweat-slicked, boot-blistered lifestyle. Things change very little on the way towards combat.

Eddie admits the sex stops though. Nobody’s looking for it once they’re in range of Guadalcanal.

He isn’t, either. Those oppressive jungle shadows aren’t the tropical paradise they were promised.

Guadalcanal is a _shithole_. Let nothing else be said about it.

He does his job there and that’s that. When he leaves, he raises his middle finger to the island in farewell.

While there, however, he leads his machine gun platoon. He crawls out under fire to snip some barbed fire at one point and he’s pretty sure he catches a bullet across his bicep. He listens to his officers, even the ones from other companies who take charge, and he gets the job done. He carries that two-man machine gun by himself when they have to move fast and he doesn’t think that new kid in Fox Company can manage it. He accepts no apologies or excuses and gets on with it.

He’s collected and he’s alert and he does everything he’s been training to do for the last eight years. He’s exceptional and he doesn’t think anything of that. He assumes everybody else is also diving on enemy grenades, tossing them back to their previous owner moments before they explode.

Eddie wishes everybody else could _shut up_ about his part in the campaign.

Apparently, his performance was ‘outstanding’. Bully for him, he’ll add it to the list of talents he doesn’t acknowledge or believe in.

He better start believing because they summon him to the barracks’ command office once they touch down in Melbourne. Barely a couple of hours in heavenly Australia and he hasn’t had time to change out of his dungarees. They look like rags opposite Puller’s pristine shirt and tie.

Eddie doesn’t remember much of the conversation, if it even is a conversation. He thinks he just nods a lot.

He recognises the word ‘commission’ when he hears it. The paper he’s handed and the order to clean himself up is received with another solemn nod.

“Thank you, sir.” He says weakly. He’s so fucking tired.

“Don’t thank me, Jones.” The colonel replies, “Thank the captain who recommended you. _Twice_.”

He will _not_ be thanking that captain.

After saluting stiffly and marching himself outside, Eddie promptly vomits onto the nearest street corner. No alcohol comes up. It’s pure nerves and it’s pathetic.

This is above and beyond what he’d expected in the better part of a decade.

He wipes his lips and cusses loudly, drawing out the sound like it’ll put him out his misery. An elongated “ _Fuck-!_ ” to settle his stomach and set him straight. The hands fisted in his dirty pants are trembling.

As per, he gets his shit together and goes about his new business; being an officer.

A first lieutenant. They skip you up the first rung when you come from the ranks, though normally no higher than that. Fine, perfect. He’s above the West Point graduating idiots but not above those he considers superior beyond his reach.

Fox Company salute him on parade when he leaves, a formal farewell to their long-suffering first sergeant. Later, in some acceptable public bar, they toast their drinks and clap him on the shoulder. Some of them embrace him. He wipes his eyes in the bathroom when he excuses himself and returns, all crooked grin and nervous laughter.

He’ll miss them. The snarling fox tattoo over his ribs will keep them with him forever.

He meets the captain who recommended him soon after.

His name’s Andrew ‘Ack Ack’ Haldane and they’ve crossed paths on Guadalcanal. King Company is his domain and he smiles warmly when they shake hands in Melbourne’s stadium.

Up close and free from that island’s filth, Eddie can see his new captain properly.

He’s _gorgeous_.

Turns out, him and Captain Haldane get on like a house on fire.

The man wants to spend as much time with him as possible. Get to know the marine who’ll be his second in combat, the one he leans on, the one who takes over should he be fortunate enough to give his life for his country. (What a terrible thought.)

They drink together and they drill together and Andrew – he hands out his first name like it’s easy to force out Eddie’s mouth, like the informality doesn’t choke him – even asks if Hillbilly will spar with him one day.

The request shakes him to the core. No officer has ever valued Eddie’s experience so openly.

Not his combat experience, anyway. They've certainly valued his cock sucking before.

They use training knives, blunt little things that pack a punch if used to strike properly. Everybody else is focused on their own partners, few marines that are bothering with non-mandatory training that day.

Australia’s sun is shining and it’s hot. Andrew takes his garrison cap off. Then he takes his shirt off.

Quietly, Eddie sucks in breath through his teeth. He covers it by hastily pulling his own shirt over his head.

He tries not to stare at those tanned muscles and strong arms, completed by the lightest dusting of blond hair. The lieutenant guiltily follows the line of that hair, down towards the happy trail that disappears tantalisingly beneath the captain’s waistband.

 _Fuck_.

Hillbilly guesses this is some intelligent training choice. Something about seeing where their strikes land without real blades to tell them. Sweat’s already basting his neck before he raises his knife. Blame the heat.

“Go easy on me.” Andrew laughs, shirtless and smiling. “I’m not as experienced as you.”

Eddie hopes the man doesn’t notice how his brow softens pathetically. Heavy questions dance behind the taller marine’s eyes, searching for answers he isn’t sure are there.

Does Haldane know that sounds like flirting? Does he even consider the possibility of the innuendo? What the fuck is Hillbilly playing at, even considering that kind of thing?

He gets his punishment in due course. Andrew uses his distraction to get a crafty slash across the jaw.

Eddie ends up, as the more experienced fighter, pinning Andrew to the ground with his full weight. He’s got a training knife to the captain’s throat and one of his arms twisted painfully behind his back. The opposing blade has skidded away across the floor, out of reach. Their skin is sweaty and they stick to one another, hot muscles pressed close under the sunshine.

Captain Haldane is at his lieutenant’s mercy. Hillbilly’s lip is curled in pride as he pants for air. Instinctual reactions serve him well.

“Excellent work, lieutenant.” Andrew gasps, his own chest heaving up and down in exertion. “Thought I almost had you for a moment.”

“Thank you, sir.” Eddie replies. He averts his eyes.

The adrenaline is fading and he’s suddenly acutely aware he’s sitting atop a superior officer. Even in context, it feels wrong. He shifts his weight in preparation to stand, so he can offer a polite hand and maybe an apology to boot.

The movement presses the front of his pants against his captain’s ass. He freezes.

Oh, brother. He’d forgot all about that. A better part of eight months, he’s gone without scratching that itch, combat taking precedent.

Now, God’s punishing him. That brief contact sent a shiver up his shine. (Ironic that the old bastard’s mocking him for _not_ fucking other men.)

Andrew, to his unflappable credit or perhaps ridiculous obliviousness, wriggles underneath him. He’s trying to look up. It repeats the grinding motion and Eddie has to swallow down a strangled whimper. Please, stop fucking doing that.

His captain is clearly concerned by his silence, arm still wrestled behind his back and unable to escape.

“You alright, lieutenant?” Haldane asks innocently.

Hillbilly can’t see his expression. He prays it’s blissfully unaware and not wised-up to the situation.

“Yes’ir.” He blurts.

He releases the other man and hastily backs away. Getting up and putting several paces between them, he doesn’t get a chance to help his captain up.

Andrew hops to his feet fine on his own, brushing the sand from his bare chest. He rolls his shoulder and winces comically, flexing his previously restrained arm.

“You’re a rough one, Jones.” He laughs. “I’d love to do this again, see if I can get on top of you next time.”

God, Eddie fucking chokes. He slaps his chest and pretends to cough.

Set off by mere words. What a fucking joke he’s become.

They end up sharing a billet together, some empty apartment offered up to U.S forces in these difficult times. It’s small and comfortable and has only one bedroom.

Andrew’s thrilled. He says so.

Eddie is not. He grits his teeth and smiles and wonders how the fuck he’ll cope.

In the early hours of the morning, they run and jump on a tram together. They’re pretending to be sober.

They laugh and they shove each other’s shoulders. They’ve been drinking somewhere far, far from their billet. Nobody can recognise them outside the usual watering holes. They’ve spent a fantastic evening together. (It wasn’t planned. They’d run into each other by chance and that makes it truly beautiful.)

The lights outside the car windows sparkle in Andrew’s blue eyes. He looks fucking fantastic, radiant with his sleeves rolled up to show off his strong arms. His tie’s loose and he’s lost his garrison cap somewhere, his tussled locks on full display.

Eddie swallows thickly. When his captain asks what he’s laughing at, he answers honestly.

“M’self.” He says.

Because there’s only comedy to be found in how smittenly he gazes at the other man, drunkenly daydreaming about having those strong arms wrapped around his waist.

At least he can hold his liquor, and therefore keep his mouth _shut_.

It’s not Captain Haldane’s fault that he’s so handsome.

Or that he’s kind, lending his lieutenant everything from socks to pens to a tie. All the things the corps is supposed to provide but expects enlisted men to run down to the bone before asking for a replacement.

Or that he’s generous, sharing the ice cream he’d bought the moment he realised Eddie wasn’t buying one for himself. He politely offers to buy another, his treat, but quickly recognises the way Hillbilly rubs his neck, humiliation burning his cheeks. There’s something rare about a well-off captain who doesn’t flex his earnings or force his charity on someone who clearly doesn’t want it.

Or that he’s respectful, a great listener who genuinely wants his second’s opinion. Never mind that his lieutenant didn’t graduate Quantico, that fact is pointedly dismissed by the captain. He cares for experience and talent, not the words on a resumé.

Or how he smiles when they eat breakfast together at their billet, sliding a glass of orange juice over the wooden table for his fellow officer. How their fingers brush when Eddie reaches out to take it and the touch is electrifying.

It’s not Andrew’s fault. It’s his lieutenant’s, the infatuated queer who’s made the fatal error of falling for a man who isn’t batting for the same team.

It’s comical, it really is.

Melbourne stretches out ahead of him, bright lights and roaring tram cars and hooting individuals of all creeds. There’s dark alleyways to fuck in and seedy bars to dance in and many, many queer locales lurking in the shadows. It’s paradise for a man like him, full of loud music and overflowing alcohol and illicit rendezvous.

The Americans are flush from combat and want to get their dicks wet before they head off to die again. The Australians are far laxer in their Christian sensibilities and are happy to give their brothers in arms a hand, so to speak. Everyone’s accommodating and it’s fantastic.

Too bad Eddie engages with none of it.

He realises this one night, resting against the fold out bed of their billet. Book in hand, eyestrain growing, and Captain Haldane asleep upstairs. (Hillbilly had made it clear from the start that the superior officer would take the bedroom of the apartment; he’d take the standard issue cot in the living room, pushed up against the wall. He was used to it, after all. Battleship bunks were a tight squeeze for his long legs; this was luxury by comparison.)

They’d spent the afternoon at the movie theatre. Andrew had laughed so hard at one scene he’d upset the other patrons. He’d apologised and buried his face in Eddie’s chest to stifle the sound, thumping the muscles of his pecks weakly.

Then they’d retired early to their shared billet. They’d eaten some bread and hadn’t bothered cooking. (The lazy officer stereotype went unacknowledged.) They’d played cards, drank some sour tasting beer Andrew had procured, laughed about it, and gone to bed.

Eddie runs his fingers over his eyes and sighs.

This has to stop. Infatuation is pathetic and not to his taste.

And if Andrew knows what he’s doing to his lieutenant, then he’s crueller than Hillbilly originally suspected.

There’s no certainty when you’re on the undesirable side of the train tracks.

Where lovers are hidden behind dark alleys and platonic touches are the marks of two dedicated life partners. Everything about queer men is hidden to the world and the mystery doesn’t stop there. It seeps into their lives, Eddie’s seen it – felt it – and it leaves open questions in its wake.

Queries that can’t be easily, legally, publicly answered.

Is Captain Haldane a homosexual? Jury says no. Logic says no. Instinct says no.

He’s too pristine, too handsome, too likeable, too strong, too courageous. He’s a model marine so he can’t be queer. He’s not cowardly or feminine or soft or quiet or selfish. (It doesn’t cross Eddie’s mind, at any point, that he is also none of those things. It doesn’t occur to him that those predefined traits, that his experience tells him are bullshit, might not be helpful in deciphering this mystery.)

But sometimes Andrew rubs his lieutenant’s forearm when they’re sat at the kitchen table. Sometimes he knocks his temple against Hillbilly’s shoulder when they walk side-by-side. Sometimes he winks and grins like they’re in on some kind of secret.

It leaves questions on Eddie’s tongue, growing larger with each passing second. Harder and harder to swallow down, to dismiss as just a fantasy he’s projecting.

He finally accosts his captain a couple of nights later.

Well, he tries to. It’s a botched confrontation and goes nowhere. Nowhere at all, and that’s all the answer Eddie ever needed.

First, he makes a big display of putting on his garrison cap. Using his reflection to adjust it, making sure his tie is straight, fiddling forlornly with his lieutenant’s bars. (That last action isn’t part of the act, he still feels weighed down by them.) A large mirror hangs over the fireplace in the living room so it’s only a matter of time.

When Andrew saunters out his bedroom, no tie about his throat and newspaper in hand, he finally notices the tragic bait attempt. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and runs his eyes over his company through the wide, open doorway. A brief moment, seen in the mirror’s reflection, has something guarded flash in his eyes.

Hillbilly doesn’t catch what it is. His captain’s easy smile appears too quickly to tell.

“Got a date?” He asks pleasantly.

The sharp inhale Eddie pulls through his nostrils is covered by his hand. He scrubs at his nose and hides the frustrated expression. No, he ain’t got a date but _fuck_ , is trying damn hard to rectify that.

“No, sir.” He replies.

Formality makes this easier. Makes it feel less like he’s putting the only superior he’s ever loved – ever _liked_ , he corrects himself – on the defendant stand unjustly.

“Jus’ thought I’d enjoy a drink tonight.” This is it, the swan dive into great sex or a bad breakup. Hillbilly mentally pinches his nose and jumps. “There’s a nice lil’ place… on Park Street, down in South Yarra.”

The apartment is silent. His heartbeat acts as a drumroll to the climax, his prayers silent and numerous. Let this go his way, or at least, not drag him down to the brig. This is the stupidest fucking gamble he’s ever made, outing himself to a superior officer. One that he really, really likes, no less.

Andrew blinks. His smile never wavers.

Not an ounce of recognition alights in his eyes. Using the mirror’s reflection to see, Eddie feels his heart sink. This man has no idea where Park Street is. Perhaps he does, but it’s just another road name to him.

It’s clearly not the roaring queer district many men know it to be.

“Well, I wish you a pleasant evening.” Andrew chirps. He’s moved across the room, tossing the newspaper onto their cluttered dining table. “I hope you get lucky.”

Busy pulling out a chair, he doesn’t see Hillbilly’s eyes close and his chest hitch.

“Y’ welcome t’ join me-!” Eddie blurts. He turns around and fails to recover, his voice slipping into a small, weak tone as he adds; “If y’ like.”

Haldane’s sat down at the table now. His strong fingers ghost over the newspaper and he doesn’t look up. He frowns.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil your evening.” He chuckles.

Once again, he sends that beautiful, incredible, cruel smile Hillbilly’s way. He grins and maybe it reaches his eyes. Maybe it doesn’t, who cares.

He says no more.

Committed to a stupid ruse he’d never wanted to extend beyond the front door, Eddie’s shoulders sink. He straightens his shirt, tugging it back into place. The fabric’s already crumpled; he never could achieve the pristine uniform of a real officer.

What a joke he’s become.

He catches his reflection in the mirror as he leaves. This isn’t the sea-faring, hard-fucking, combat-ready marine who’d spent eight years in the corps. Whoever he catches a glimpse of, it isn’t him. He despises who he sees.

An infatuated idiot, who’s trying to punch above his weight. A swing and a miss.

Eddie heads out to that bar he’d said he’d go to. He’s got a date with hard liquor and whichever guy gives him a moment of attention.

Silly infatuation turns to heartbreak at rejection turns to anger at wasting his Goddamn time.

Stupidity has driven him to think he could have Captain Haldane, the man everybody and their dog swoons over. Tussled blond hair and barest hint of stubble over a strong jaw, an award-winning smile and a smooth, deep voice. An inoffensive accent and shining officer’s bars, marking his merit and his courage and his leadership and-

Oh, the list goes on forever. Eddie slams his glass down on the bar and shouts for another round.

He’s so fucked and he’s not referring to the whisky.

Swing and a miss doesn’t cover it. His captain isn’t a Goddamn queer, what the Hell was he thinking?

His captain isn’t stupid either. He _will_ figure out what Park Street is known for and he _will_ realise that the lieutenant he’s welcomed – no, _befriended,_ under the pure hearted assumption of platonic intimacy and male comradery – isn’t worth a lick of spit. That the marine with the nickname Hillbilly isn’t just a disgraceful queer, he’s a dumb enough hick to openly admit it to his superior officer.

To openly _proposition_ his superior officer.

God, somebody slap some sense into him. Eddie’s begging for it as he rests his forehead against the bar counter and groans softly.

It’s covered by the roaring music. He straightens up as he’s given another glass full.

Might as well enjoy his last night alive. A swan song to his friendship with the great Captain Haldane, best case scenario.

This evening ends one of two ways, much as many things in Hillbilly’s life.

Either he’s drinking himself into a blissful hole, knocking back drink after drink after drink – or someone is going to stop him. Someone who catches his eye and is equally interested in scratching a certain itch that has been, up until now, wrongly aligned in a certain blond officer’s direction.

That makes Eddie laugh as he takes another swig. He actually thought the esteemed Andrew 'Ack Ack' Haldane was going to fuck him.

Turning around to rest his back against the counter, Hillbilly surveys the establishment he’d descended the steps into. It’s too classy for him but that’s alright. He’s an officer now, he can pretend to be a gentleman. Some queers have a fetish for tall, menacing looking types anyway. It gives him a free pass where his straight and narrow peers might receive turned up noses.

Tonight, he’s happy to be a fetish. Whatever fits the bill, who cares; he’s not there to argue about motives. He just wants to go home drunk or clutching another man’s hand. (The fact that he’s as excited about the simple act of holding hands as he is about getting fucked hard is pathetic and he refuses to acknowledge it.)

The bingo sound chimes when he catches a pair of green eyes through the swirling cigarette smoke. Another lieutenant, junior grade, and wearing a familiar black tie tucked into his khaki shirt. There’s naval insignia hidden there somewhere but Eddie doesn’t need to see it. His crooked grin is already spreading over his lips.

He tilts his head back and smiles with absolute satisfaction. He lights up a cigarette, takes a drag, then lets it dangle from his fingers. Held perfectly at crotch level. It's a signal, of sorts. Unsubtle as all Hell but it fools straight folk pretty easily.

Over that lieutenant saunters, to meet his marine counterpart at the bar.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks.

The confidence is appreciated. Eddie’s not in the mood for games tonight. They both face the bar and stand close, hips brushing purposely.

“Sure.” Hillbilly replies.

God Bless the Navy.

Maybe it’s the whisky, clouding his judgement. Maybe it’s the earlier rejection, tarring the evening. Maybe it’s his own stupidity, throwing long-devoted caution to the wind.

Maybe it’s all of the above. In a war where he’s tasted death on his tongue and spat it out, just before it could crawl down his throat, Eddie’s lost himself. He knows what to do in combat, same as ever, and he remains exceptional at his job.

It’s the time in between. The bits where he realises that if he dies, only his comrades will mourn. Then they’ll pull their gaiters up and move on. He doesn’t blame them; he’s done the same.

He hasn't spent these years chasing men out of convenience because there's nothing else. This isn't something that ends with his discharge papers. (Honourable or otherwise.)

It's who he is. And if that's true, then his entensive sexual history fails to impress.

Eddie doesn’t have a ‘boyfriend’ or whatever idiotic term some men are using these days. Never has he thought he’d ever get to enjoy a relationship of that kind. It’s something only regular, normal boys are allowed. It’s romantic and joyful and beautiful and he can’t have it. Why wish for something you can’t have.

Well, he’s making a habit of doing exactly that, isn’t he. He’s wished for a captain he can’t have and made a fool of himself for it.

Maybe he’s just overthinking it all.

Who cares. He reminds himself over and over; who fucking cares.

Without a girl to go home to, he can live and die as he pleases. So, who cares?

He doesn’t and his company doesn’t seem to, convinced by his assurances that – if they do this _quietly_ – the other marine asleep upstairs won’t disturb them.

They chuckle and hold hands as they creep inside the dark apartment. There’s no lights besides a dim table lampshade, left on for some unknown reason. The landing at the top of the stairs is blacked out and quiet.

The fold out cot won’t hold two men’s weight so they use the old, worn red couch in the centre of the living room. _Use_ in the sense that Eddie’s pressed up against the back of it, a pair of rough hands digging nails into his ass muscles as he claws his own grip through brown hair.

God Bless whatever arm of the Navy trained this lieutenant (junior grade) – Jackson, that’s his surname, and he’d assured Eddie that he’d be _remembering it_ come morning – because fuck, he knows when to tighten his grip and make Hillbilly moan. His lips drag perfectly over the marine’s neck and bite down hard enough to leave a mark below his collar line. Their slacks grind together in rutting motions and their teeth catch when Eddie drags the man’s head up so they can kiss.

That black tie is ripped away, allowing the marine to run his short nails against his company’s nape and over his shoulders. He’s keen to leave marks of his own – concealed by clothes, of course, he’s a courteous lover – and he bites the officer’s bottom lip. The growl he receives, guttural and aroused, has him grinning sloppily.

He takes the hint. He retracts his hands down to his pants; his belt rattles and hits the floor. He gets halfway down his fly buttons before those hands on his ass retreat, running up to his hips. They find a tight, unrelenting grip there.

Jackson is tall, only a couple of inches off his company, but he’s got stockier muscles. All that battleship ladder climbing.

He spins Hillbilly around easily, pinning him stomach-first against the back of the couch. It’s quick and Eddie knows he never stood a chance of resisting it. The thought has his eyes shut, biting his own tongue to stifle a desperate moan of pleasure. He’s shoved down over the backrest, mercifully cushioned by the padding. It digs into his abdomen as he’s doubled over, hot breath against his neck as his partner rests on top of him.

They’re both panting as the man speaks. “Keep quiet.” Jackson whispers.

Eddie chuckles. “Make me.” He teases.

He wouldn’t mind a slap for that. Instead, he receives a huffed laugh and a chaste kiss to his nape. It has him humming eagerly. Such affection isn’t so common. He likes it.

“You marines are so cocky.” Is whispered hotly against his ear.

The naval lieutenant straightens up but keeps Hillbilly pinned with a firm hand against his back. Right where he’s wanted, ass up and presented for use. Forgetting the half-undone buttons, Jackson tugs down his company's pants. The fabric scrapes painfully and drags Hillbilly’s underwear down with it.

Exposed to the warm living room air, Eddie lets out a shuddering sigh. Fuck, it’s been a while.

He hears Jackson spit on his hand, running it over his stiff length. The sound repeats and Hillbilly pushes up off the couch, trying to straighten up. There’s Vaseline somewhere in his slacks.

The hand on his back pushes him back down. Eddie doesn’t fight it, pressed against the back of the couch once more.

“Cunt.” He hisses. The smile on his lips echoes in his tone.

“Thought you knew what you were in for.” Jackson replies teasingly.

It draws genuine laughter from Hillbilly’s throat.

Fuck the Navy, honestly. He hears a purring chuckle from behind him, feels a tender hand pat his hip affectionately. Along with the tearing of a condom wrapper, which has him humming in gratitude. He nods his thank you rather than voices it.

On second thoughts, God Bless the Navy. Never doubted them for a second.

While his company’s busy rolling latex over his cock, Eddie shoves his fingers in his mouth. They’re brought out dripping with spit. He spreads his legs and reaches between them, shoving two fingers into his hole. The stretch isn’t much, though he’ll admit he’s tighter after the dry spell.

Oh well. He fucks himself on two fingers, then three, gritting his teeth against the pleasure. His erection is digging into the back of the couch and it’s torture. He deserves it. He loves it. He’s missed this.

A swift motion brings his hand back to his mouth, drooling some more makeshift lubricant onto his fingers, then returning them to his ass. He stretches himself and scissors his fingers, chest heaving with the stress of waiting. The delay he knows he needs is killing him.

He hears Jackson moving his hand over his cock, spreading spit over latex. Eddie’s fingers are slapped away and the marine growls, angry that he’s been left to unravel by the wait. The head of the other man’s cock is pressed against his hole, perfectly aligned to push inside, and Hillbilly’s forehead knocks against the back couch cushion. He groans heavily and remorselessly.

He’d beg for it if asked to.

One hand still pressed to his back, Jackson can stand up straight and take a moment to admire. They both know there’s no need but he does it anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can glimpse the man’s grin. The upturn of his lip in satisfaction and the lust in his eyes.

It must be quite a view. A strong, muscled marine with his ass presented, legs parted. His chest heaving in desperation to be fucked, shirt hitched up under his arms and pants around his ankles. Across his shoulder blades, sweat runs over the glimpses of his faded back tattoo. Semper Fi, it reads in bold print.

Slowly, the navy officer rolls his tongue in his mouth. He pushes spit over his lips and lets a drop fall lazily downward, landing at the base of Hillbilly’s spine, nestled in the cleavage of his buttocks. It pools there, running between his cheeks as his company spreads them apart with his hands.

Eddie’s moan is breathless and raspier than he intended.

They lock gazes when he glances over his shoulder and Jackson looks fucking pleased with himself.

He hums and uses his hand to guide his cock inside the marine’s hole. The ring of muscle protests briefly and Hillbilly grits his teeth, sucking in air at the sting. The head pushes inside and the sensation has him shuddering, gripping the couch like a vice. He opens his mouth and gasps out a rough grunt.

Jackson presses inside him gently, allowing each inch to slide gradually past Eddie’s tight hole. It’s appreciated but still leaves the man blowing out his cheeks, huffing as he adjusts to the stretch. Why he never chooses _below_ -average sized guys, he can’t say. Luck is always on his side in that regard.

That hand is returned to his back again, keeping him bent over and where he’s wanted. The other finds his hip, rubbing circles against his skin. It’s showing appreciation for his effort, a tender gratitude for taking Jackson’s cock all the way to the base.

“Feel good?” The navy lieutenant asks softly. He hasn’t forgotten where they are or their need for discretion.

Hillbilly chuckles and hangs his head. It’s too much of an ego inflation to throw his head back and cry ‘fuck yes’. The lengthy list of praises he could bestow on the first man to fuck him in several long, terrible months isn’t going to sweeten the evening.

Instead, he grunts and nods. “It’ll feel better when y’ start fuckin’ me proper.” He says.

A responding chuckle punctuates the movement of Jackson’s hips. He pulls back, dragging his cock out of Eddie’s ass. All but the head is pulled free, left inside for the marine to enjoy. And enjoy it he does, his toes curling as he releases a whimper through tightly pressed lips. His eyes fall shut, concealing how they roll back in pleasure.

The first thrust follows, the navy officer smart enough not to start rutting immediately. (Hillbilly probably wouldn’t complain.) He gives two or three gentle rolls of his hips, pushing him deep inside and making sure what lubricant they have is well spread. Hillbilly’s teeth are gritted and it’s not from pain; he’s keeping himself from moaning, each thrust feeling better and better.

He adjusts quickly. This is far from his first time.

Soon, Jackson’s got both hands on his waist, holding him steady as he fucks into him. The pace becomes rapid, escalating in a moment and the couch rattles against the faded rug. The floorboards creak overhead and neither hears, preoccupied by their stifled grunts of pleasure and breathless gasps for more.

It’s only when the stairs creak – the bottom ones, the entire top three quarters silent where an expert soldier creeps down – that Eddie’s eyes blink open. Between his pants for air and the man thrusting into him, he lets go of the couch. He tries to twist toward the open doorway, where the hall with the staircase and front entrance lies.

He turns just as a familiar face rounds the corner. He hastily slaps Jackson’s thigh behind him, harder than intended, getting him to stop. “Shit-!” He spits out, but it’s too late.

The two officers on the couch both stare across the living room, freezing in their positions. Their gazes meet a marine captain, khaki shirt hastily pulled on and striped nightwear fitting loosely around his legs. His arms are folded and his expression cold.

Captain Haldane looks brutally unimpressed.

“Lieutenant.” He greets the stranger in their midst politely. He then turns to Eddie, his tone cruel. “Jones.”

His eyes linger on Hillbilly’s wide-eyed, guilty stare for longer than necessary. The fingers against his bicep flex in agitation.

Jackson pulls out, tucking himself away in a hurry and tossing the condom subtly to the floor. His pants are fastened, his shirt tucked in, and he straightens up to his full height. The expression he wears is collected, despite the heavy rise and fall of his chest. A glance up on Hillbilly’s part reveals the sweat beading at his temple, illuminated in the warm lamplight.

Recognising the bars still pinned to Haldane’s shirt, Jackson swallows thickly. He’d hoped to outrank this unfortunate intruder.

“Captain.” He says curtly. He nods and steps away from the couch, running a hand nervously over his mouth.

The silence continues to stretch painfully across the scene. Eddie doesn’t move from the couch, still bent over the back of it.

Andrew rolls his eyes. His patience for this charade has already reached zero. “Get the fuck out my billet.” He orders.

His cold, cruel stare fixes on Jackson without mercy. His lip twitches but only Hillbilly catches it, the navy officer too busy stooping to pick up his tie and garrison cap. It’s returned to his brown hair as he strides confidently towards the hallway. He glances back at Eddie as he passes Haldane, a brave move the marine has to respect.

Few men can hesitate on an order from his captain.

“ _Now_ , lieutenant.” Andrew barks. His head jerks sharply towards his unwanted guest, though his gaze remains elsewhere. The pleasure of meeting his blue eyes is withheld.

With a heavy, anxious sigh, Jackson nods and turns towards the door. “See you 'round.” He says over his shoulder.

Eddie doesn’t get to watch him leave, the hallway extending behind the wall towards the exit. Andrew could, if he wanted, but he keeps his harsh stare fixed on the couch. The door opens and slams, leaving them alone.

Hillbilly chews his own tongue, convinced he could bite it off he’s so uncomfortable. With a sigh of pain, his back cracking, he straightens up from the couch. Slowly and carefully, as if spooking his witness might have the man attacking him. (Which it very much might.) Or, worse and more likely, marching straight out the door towards their superior’s office.

Andrew does neither. He merely watches as his lieutenant turns and rests his ass against the back of the couch. Pants still around his ankles, shirt falling down to cover his modesty. It must be quite a view, collar loose with no tie and those single silver bars looking more out of place than ever. Curls askew, eyes averted, blood turning his cheeks pink.

Ignoring all of it, even his captain, Eddie undoes his shirt pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and a zippo and lights up. Without a care in the world, he takes a long, deep drag, releasing it through his nostrils in a disappointed sigh. He pretends his finger aren’t trembling.

Maybe it’s the whisky. Maybe it’s the war. Maybe he doesn’t care.

Andrew’s arms retract from his chest, sinking into his pyjama pant pockets. His gaze wanders across the floor when Eddie glances his way. Good, nice to know neither of them want to meet each other’s eye.

Imagining what’s running through his captain’s head is lethal.

Mourning a lost friendship, if Hillbilly’s lucky. (He’s not and he doesn’t think himself worth that much.) Probably just mourning the report he’s going to have to turn in, the revelation that the Marine Corps’ newly commissioned lieutenant is a faggot who’s going to need to be carted off somewhere post-haste. That’s definitely not worth the effort; Eddie wants them to use the old school method.

A Colt .45 and a short trip behind the barracks' latrine.

He takes another drag of his smoke.

“I’m sorry.” He says pitifully. He’s sure he means it.

Andrew laughs out loud, a short and frustrated huff.

“No, you’re not.” He replies. His mouth is a grim line and he seems to consider adding something more.

He runs his finger back and forth over his top lip in that signature gesture. The one for when he’s thinking, or nervous, or hiding amusement. When he speaks, it comes out an unhappy whisper.

“Clean yourself up and go to bed.” He says. “We’re not discussing this tonight.”

It’s an order. A brutal one that forces Hillbilly’s eyes closed. He can only nod once. It’s not necessary, Ack Ack’s already turned away and started up the stairs. He expects nothing less than complete obedience.

Cigarette between his fingers, Eddie puts it to his lips and takes a deep, choking pull. It fills his lungs to the max before he releases it, coughing slightly as it drifts upwards. He presses the heel of his hand to his head, hard. It fails to cover the tremble in his shoulders and the sniffs he can’t hold back.

Fucking idiot. His fingers move to his mouth, covering his lips to keep his sobs silent.

He won’t wake his captain up a second time.

He goes to bed stupid and he wakes up the same. Stiff and uncomfortable like he deserves, having slept terribly on his creaky fold out bed. He can smell eggs from the kitchen, bacon too.

Upright in a second, Eddie desperately starts pulling on his uniform. His creased khakis are a poor display of officer-standard, but he’s got nothing else. He smooths them down as best he can.

When he creeps through the hallway and into the kitchen, he’s got his shirt tucked in and his tie perfectly knotted. That’s tucked in, too, and his canvas belt is buckled neatly. Garrison hat literally in his hands, he ducks his head inside with guilt in his eyes and fear in his heart.

Illuminated by the sunshine, falling through the window that overlooks a tiny and overgrown garden, Captain Haldane is busy with the stove. He must hear the intruding marine; he doesn’t turn around. Or look over his shoulder, or make any form of greeting.

Hillbilly feels his shoulders sink.

He clears his throat and finds bile blocking the way. He has to cough twice to dislodge the thick, visceral blockage that keeps him from speaking. Even then, he’s certain he’ll choke when he opens his mouth.

“Captain Haldane.” He says respectfully.

He receives a hum of acknowledgement. Two plates are loaded with the eggs and bacon that’s been sizzling in the pan. Eddie thanks the good Lord for his timing and clumsily pulls out a chair for his superior.

If Andrew notices, he doesn’t say a word. He sits and immediately points to the other plate, positioned opposite him.

“Sit.” He orders.

Slipping on the tiles in his haste to obey, Hillbilly eventually settles himself where he’s told. His back is stiff and, though his cutlery is held tightly in his hands, he doesn’t move to eat. The tremble in his fingers is slight enough he thinks it might not be detected.

This is it. The pull of the hangman’s lever on his own personal gallows. A short drop and a sudden stop.

“I’ll be finished at the barracks by four.” Ack Ack says. He doesn’t look up from where he’s cutting his eggs.

The pause he takes to chew and swallow has Eddie sweating. His food is going cold and he can’t pull his eyes from his captain’s face. He’s quiet as the grave.

“I expect you to be back here as well.” Andrew continues. “So we can talk.”

The conversation ends there.


	2. Chapter 2

Eddie is left behind in the kitchen, with eggs and bacon on his plate, cold and stale. He eats both regardless because a certain man made them for him. They taste stiff and greasy after being ignored for some time.

He takes a separate tram to the barracks, unlike their usual pleasurable ride together. He avoids his captain wherever possible and makes sure he’s on the earliest tram he can catch back to their billet.

Arriving by three o’clock in the afternoon, Hillbilly’s left with an hour to stew and sweat profusely. He washes himself in the bathroom and pulls endlessly at his curls. He’s about ready to run down to the harbour and jump in the sea when the front door rattles open.

Andrew Haldane meets him in the living room.

The captain sets down the day’s newspaper and loosens his tie. He rolls up his sleeves, checks his watch, then sits at the small circular dining table. His chair is angled so he can lean one arm against the wooden surface but still face the rest of the room. Sinful couch included, Eddie standing in front of it with his hands behind his back.

He’s instinctively positioned at-ease. He’d be at attention if he didn’t think that would just piss Andrew off. The pose allows him to ring his hands together in anguish, out of view.

Ack Ack rubs his eyes and sighs. His fingers tap against the table.

“I’m not sure where to start.” He admits.

Hillbilly’s eye twitches. You know, after an hour of waiting, he’s moved on from the submissive, meek little display he’d had that morning. He’s grown back to the giant of a man he is, angry at this whole affair.

For all he knows, Andrew’s already turned him in. MPs could come a knocking any minute now. Start sliding the clip into that .45, boys.

“How about y’ let me know if I should be expectin’ a blue ticket.” Eddie snaps.

The curt tone has his captain glancing up. Their eyes meet and the man sitting down looks stern. Offended, almost.

“I’m not going to report you.” Ack Ack says carefully.

God fucking damn it, he seems so honest. Yet Hillbilly can’t hold back his laugh, falling from his lips before he can help it. It’s loud and crude and absolutely suited to a hick like him. There’s no humour in the sound.

“Why not?” He asks. “Evidence seems pretty conclusive t’ me, sir.”

Andrew leans back in his chair. His legs are spread and his pose bleeds control. He’s unaffected by the question; his frown is simply perplexed. He chuckles quietly, confidently. _Darkly_.

Resentment flashes behind his eyes. Where it’s come from, who knows. Eddie swallows.

Still, his captain says nothing.

If Eddie were less distracted, he might remember that the two of them have played poker before. Several times, in this very billet. Every game, Andrew has won. Hillbilly’s cold, calculated frown is an excellent guard; he’d thought himself unbeatable behind it.

Captain Haldane’s poker face is better.

“I’m _not_ going to report you.” He repeats eventually.

The curl of Eddie’s lip, a third of the way to a snarl, retracts as he inhales. He has to crack his neck to keep himself on the level. What the Hell is that even supposed to mean, ‘I’m not going to report you’.

‘I’m not going to do my job’ more like. Not going to defend the honour of the Marine Corps and its stellar reputation. Hillbilly’s a little offended himself, grossly misplaced as that may be.

“Then-” The lieutenant shifts uncomfortably. Whatever he’s trying to get out is too big for his mouth and his anger is losing the battle to confusion. “What… _are_ y’ gonna do?”

Frequent jabs and cutting comments remind him daily that he is, by default, an idiot. Something about his breeding, his origins, his accent. He’s a stupid hillbilly, so he’s told, and he’s finding this conversation to be evidence of that.

He’s baffled. What’s really going on is sailing so far over his head, he thinks it’s a P-51 flying by.

His captain considers, then shrugs.

“Nothing.” He says.

It’s completely casual, his domineering, leg-spread pose having edged closer to a dejected slouch. The elbow he rests on the table allows his hand – motioning nonchalantly as he speaks – to return to his temple. He leans against it, gaze unwavering.

Eddie blinks.

No consequence, no punishment, no _nothing_.

His second blink is faster, trying to flutter away the delusion he’s having. The one where his captain caught him bent over their billet couch, another man’s cock seven inches deep in his ass, and has decided – as per fucking protocol – to pretend it never happened.

Ack Ack stands. Hillbilly snaps to attention.

The captain sends him a withering glance and continues towards the stairs. Bored of this conversation, apparently, its tense silences a clear waste of his time.

Eddie doesn’t have anything to say. He’d prepared for a thrashing and he’s woefully ill-equipped for whatever kindness is being extended.

“You don’t have to worry about any blue discharge.” Andrew says as he pauses in the open doorway, “Though if you could keep your hook-ups out of my sight, that would be greatly appreciated.”

It must’ve been disgusting to see, to the unfamiliar eye. He’s taken it like a gentleman, he really has.

“Yes’ir.” Hillbilly parrots, and Haldane sighs.

He really does take formality like sandpaper to the taint.

“I’m not going to report you.” He repeats quietly, for a final time.

He sounds miserable. Maybe he’s convincing himself it’s the right thing to do, Christian charity or some shit. Which it’s not, in Eddie’s personal opinion. There’s no excuse for how royally he’d fucked up and he deserves to be marched out the corps.

No such march occurs. He remains at attention as he listens to the forlorn creak of the staircase.

From the living room, he can hear Andrew muttering to himself. “Would certainly be hypocritical of me-“ He mumbles, “-to do such a thing.”

Once he’s out of earshot, Hillbilly’s shoulders slump. His lungs empty, every muscle aching from the strain of the conversation. He’s running a hand over his face when he registers what his captain muttered during his retreat.

Oh, _fuck_.

Wait, no. Stop the presses. Bafflement has returned.

The fingers held over Eddie’s eye clench, digging into his skin. A thousand questions pop and burst behind his wide eyes, his head snapping towards the empty hallway. Looking for answers that might be lurking there.

Looking for _Andrew_ , praying he’ll be standing at the bottom of the stairs. Smiling coyly and giving that illicit wink. The one he frequently sends his lieutenant’s way – and _only_ his lieutenant’s way – that makes it seem like they share a secret.

There’s no such wink. The bedroom door has already snapped shut upstairs.

Everything’s already slid off the scales by the time they fall from Hillbilly’s eyes. The metaphorical clatter is loud as a freight train. His fists clench and unclench and he looks wildly around, expecting the entire company to jump out and yell ‘Surprise!’ at any moment. This has to be some kind of joke.

No, he’s the joke. This is on him.

Whatever the fuck he thinks is going on, he’s probably wrong. Only one man is smart enough to help him solve the mystery.

Eddie knocks on his captain’s bedroom door, having spent an hour pacing the empty living room alone. Rubbing his fingers against his lips and through his curls, mentally untangling a whole array of rigging. Fool that he is, he only manages to confuse himself more.

He makes a decision in the midst of that chaos, however. It leaves him leaning against the bedroom doorframe.

The door rattles open. Half of Andrew’s body appears, his hand remaining firmly on the handle.

“What is it?” He asks.

Hillbilly opens his mouth to greet the man by rank, then thinks better of it.

“I want t’ apologise.” He says instead.

To his mercy, the door doesn’t slam. Ack Ack adjusts his position and waits. His tie's missing and his feet are bare. He doesn’t seem impressed.

“I’m-” The lieutenant draws in a deep breath and runs his teeth over his bottom lip. “I’m sorry y’ had t’ see… _that_.”

That which shall not be explicitly described. Details aren’t necessary, the view was pretty unambiguous.

“Truth is, I’ve-” Here it comes, the second swan dive off another, deadlier cliff. Bravely, Eddie holds his nose and swallows down the sting in his throat. “I’ve become a lil’… _infatuated_ with you, captain, after spendin’ so much time together.”

God, he cannot meet the other man’s eye. His miserable gaze bores into the floorboards and his features are contorted in pain. This is the most ugly, wretched expression he’s ever worn.

“I don’t want m’ feelin’s gettin’ in the way of our work when they’re unwanted.” He mutters.

It’s as professional as this psudo-confession is getting. He means it; he values their contribution to the war effort. He values everything his captain does.

Eddie clears his throat, thumping his chest to dislodge the weight on his heart.

“I don’t wanna presume that you’re familiar with the likes a’ queers- I don’t think you should be, a’ course!” Backpedal, backpedal _quickly_. “But you’ve been decent t’ me, more so than I deserve after last night, and I…”

Hillbilly closes his eyes and hangs his head. He’s boring the whole damn apartment with his bullshit and it has to stop. All of this has to stop.

He summons the courage to meet his captain’s eyes. He finds soft, sympathetic blues. They’re almost grey and remind him of clear West Virginian skies. The pitiful exhale Eddie releases, humbled by those kind features, marks the end of his confession.

Who cares about his reasons.

“I’d like t’ formally request-“ He utters, his own eyes lifeless and dull as he runs through the worst script he’d ever had to read, “-that I’m transferred t’ another company, sir.”

It kills him to say it. He wishes he could go back and repeat last night. Accept his place at his captain’s side as a friend and nothing more, the position he somehow considered not enough.

It is enough. It always has been.

“Denied.” Haldane replies.

Eddie groans and knocks his temple against the doorframe.

“ _Please_ , Captain Haldane-!” He tries but he’s cut off.

A firm hand is held up to silence him. Behind it, Andrew appears detached from his usual confidence. His eyes are wandering over his company’s features, searching for answers of his own. Said answers don’t seem to be present, unsurprising as that is to Hillbilly. What wisdom could he possibly provide his exceptional superior officer?

How to suck cock behind a barracks latrine. Classy and essential information. Thank you, Lieutenant Jones.

Ack Ack’s finger runs back and forth over his top lip. He opens his mouth, closes it, steels himself, and opens it again. His company holds his breath.

“Why do you think-” The captain’s pause is uncharacteristic, de-aging him in a heartbeat. An experienced officer is replaced by a fumbling young man, bringing the total on the landing to two. “-that your feelings are _unwanted_?”

Hillbilly blinks. His pitiful, submissive expression vanishes instantly into an agitated frown.

“Well, you’re-” He gestures vaguely with his hand.

There’s a million endings to that sentence. Oh, the list goes on forever.

Straight and exclusively into chasing pussy. Handsome and flawlessly likable. Completely out of reach to a man nicknamed Hillbilly, who uses ass-wipe for a bookmark and thinks hot dogs are the height of luxury.

Andrew’s hands rest on his hips and he straightens his back, tilting his chin upwards. His eyebrow arches, expecting a closing statement. He’s issuing a damn _challenge_.

“You’re-?” Eddie’s voice has become a dying croak. “Not… _queer_.”

A twitch of Ack Ack’s lip marks the moment he forgives his lieutenant’s transgressions. (Most of them, anyway.) He fails to hide the amused and sympathetic smile he’s forcing down.

He steps away from the entrance and retreats into his bedroom. He leaves the door open.

With his back turned, he can speak freely. Return to his usual confidence where he isn’t faced with a tall, humble marine, bleeding his heart out on his doorstep.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have said so myself.” Andrew muses, to nobody in particular.

His eyes drift over to the lace curtains, keeping the evening sun at bay.

“But I also wouldn’t have...” He releases a short sigh, embarrassed in his confession. “I don’t know.”

His finger returns to his top lip. Turning back to the open doorway, he finds Eddie leaning on the frame in silent expectation. All brown curls, wide eyes, and deep scowl.

It makes Andrew chuckle. There’s a pink hue to his cheeks. He gestures vaguely as he laughs, failing to grasp the words he wants, slipping a shrug of his shoulders into the motion. His hand falls back to his side and slaps his thigh in defeat, the other still planted on his hip.

He looks at Hillbilly sheepishly, features guilty despite his lack of crime.

His lieutenant makes a mirroring gesture with his hands, also grasping for an answer to the question nobody’s fucking answering.

“So, are you-?” The stupid vague gesturing becomes aggressive as Eddie asks, “ _Queer?_ ”

Andrew laughs again, shoulders hunched in embarrassment.

“I like _you_ , Jones.” He says, clear and confident despite the softness of his voice and shade of his cheeks. “I know that for certain.”

God, Hillbilly almost collapses from exhaustion. Fuck this man, honestly, stringing their charade out and making his lieutenant run a mental marathon. (It’s not Andrew’s fault, he knows that.)

Eddie rubs his forehead, smoothing out the creases in his overworked brain.

“But-” He’s grasping for contradictory straws, certain this is still a projected delusion. “Last night, when I invited you out-?”

Besides his bottom lip, held between his teeth, Ack Ack looks fairly composed. Too bad his company knows his features intimately, having spent enough time gazing wistfully at them. That expression is humiliation, plain and simple.

“I thought you might be… going to pick up a girl, actually.” He admits. It’s so pitifully adorable, Eddie has to see it fall from Andrew’s lips to believe it’s him saying it. “I thought you were asking me to help you and I- _Well_.”

After their earlier confessions, no more explanation is necessary. And Hillbilly doesn’t want to hear it, to be honest.

Nothing would wound him more than his esteemed captain admitting he didn’t want to wingman the lieutenant he’s been secretly smitten with. (The very utterance would have Hillbilly clutching his chest and crying out in Shakespearean fashion.)

So, that explains the rejection. Eddie had thought himself put down by an uninterested man, and said man had thought himself invited to watch his heart break. (And Andy doesn’t know Park Street for its cock-on-cock cabaret.)

What a pair of fucking idiots they make. Maybe if they put their heads together, they’d add up to one competent officer. (In the romantic sense. Captain Haldane is the finest officer imaginable and Eddie will knock the teeth out of any mouth that says otherwise.)

The lieutenant sighs and settles himself. He nods slowly, piecing it all together.

“When I saw that navy lieutenant, I- Um-” The finger returns to Andrew’s top lip as he speaks. They should both be concerned; he might end up with no skin there at this rate. “I thought you wanted to make it clear you weren’t, y’know…”

No, Eddie doesn’t know. World’s upside down.

Andrew laughs at himself, embarrassed again. He wanders towards the bed, taken a merciful seat on the mattress. The sheets are tussled from where he’s been sleeping. (He’s bad at making it. Marine standard, Eddie’s ass.)

“Interested in me.” He finishes confidently. That confidence doesn’t reach his eyes.

Quietly, Hillbilly closes the door behind him. This isn’t a conversation he wants interrupted, though he’s certain four walls and a closed window does the trick fine. He approaches carefully and pauses at the bed.

The hesitation is recognised and Ack Ack nods to the spot beside him. His smile returns as Eddie sits, their knees brushing. The lieutenant rests his hands respectfully between his thighs; his captain rubs his fingers against his palms. Sweaty, it seems, and desperate to be placed somewhere they shouldn’t be.

“Interested in you don’t cover it.” Eddie chuckles bitterly. “I like you a lot, Andrew.”

Using his first name is exhilarating despite the effort it takes. Eight years a sea-faring marine has its drawbacks in the romance department.

“Andy.” His captain blurts.

It shocks them both and drags nervous laughter from their chests. The sound helps ease the awkwardness they both feel, coaxing back the familiarity they’d enjoyed before this incident.

“My friends call me Andy back home.” Andy explains.

Behind a crooked smile, Eddie hums. “ _Andy_.” He repeats. “Hope you’ll return the favour an’ stop callin’ me ‘Jones’.”

With Ack Ack’s finger briefly back against his top lip – he recognises the habit this time and hastily pulls it away – he moves to scratch his neck.

“I didn’t want to assume anything.” He says.

The sigh he lets out is so fucking cute and sounds like he’s ready to throttle himself in humiliation.

“As you can probably tell, I’m not very good at this.” He admits. “If I was, I would’ve been less subtle with my affections.”

“I got the hint eventually.” Hillbilly mumbles, lying bastard that he is.

He’s showing his true, infatuated colours. Without a narrowly missed discharge and mutual confessions, they’d still be dancing around their feelings for each other.

But he wants Andy to feel less embarrassed by all this. To place the blame on Eddie’s shoulders, where it belongs. (According to Eddie.) So, he’ll say what he has to and lie through his teeth.

A stupid idea. Ack Ack doesn’t buy it and laughs. It’s a great sound to hear, in general and in this particular situation. The mood is instantly brightened.

“I thought I was being rather _overt_ , actually.” He confesses. “Every time I touched your arm, I was so excited. Thought I might get a fist to the face if I went any further.”

It’s Hillbilly’s turn to laugh. It starts out as a chuckle, then erupts into full-bodied laughter. He stifles it by putting his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

What a couple of stupid fucking queers. (If that’s the word Andy’s using. Jury’s still out on that one.)

Speaking of Andy, he’s brought a hand down on his company’s thigh. Squeezing his leg as he chuckles along, as thrilled by their realisations as he is humiliated. His ears are red.

Eddie straightens up – once he’s done laughing – and glances down at that grip. His smile turns from tightly pressed against his giggles to a sloppy, slanted smirk.

Oh, he likes that. Loves it, even, enjoying the fingers against his thigh. They could be tighter, in his opinion, but he hopes they can rectify that. Come to a compromise.

Instinctive reactions serve him well, spurred by the heat crawling up from his gut. Hillbilly licks his lips as he turns his gaze on Ack Ack. His fingers reach out, running over the fabric of his captain’s shirt collar. They travel upwards, dipping under the cotton to slide against Andy’s neck.

The skin of his nape is hot. It’s perfect for the tender grip Eddie places there, drawing the man’s head towards his own. The gap between them closes, their mouths meeting in a chaste kiss.

It's short and sweet. The taller of the two hums.

Sparks he’s rarely felt – has _never_ felt, if he’s being honest before God about it – tingle on his lips. It’s electrifying to kiss his captain and the huff from his nostrils reveals as much. His hold on the man’s nape keeps them close, mouths hastily pressing together again. This time, Hillbilly’s not testing the waters and pushes his tongue past Andy’s lips.

He finds his company eager to oblige, chest hitching as he gasps at the contact. Their mouths slide against one another as Eddie rakes his hand up into Ack Ack’s hair. The fingers he can feel on his thigh clench.

Andy’s excited, enthusiastic. He also has _no idea_ what he’s doing.

Not regarding the kissing, he’s pretty apt at that. It’s his hands, one fisted in the fabric of Hillbilly’s slacks, the other clutching the sheets like a vice. A final chaste kiss is planted before Eddie pulls away so they can lock gazes. There’s half a foot between their features and blood pounding in their ears.

They study each other’s expressions; Ack Ack’s draws a guttural sigh from his partner. Blue eyes clouded, the captain looks as lost as he does aroused. A glance down reveals a tent in the front of his pants. Hillbilly does his best not to smirk.

He did that. With just a little kissing, too.

Unfortunately, he has other matters to attend to. (Driving this beautiful man wild isn’t going to take much effort but Eddie’s going to put the work in anyway. Above and beyond the call of duty, that’s what his captain will be getting.)

First, Hillbilly slackens his grip on those blond locks. His fingers turn to petting instead, running through them lovingly. It’s exactly like his daydream and he exhales wistfully.

“When y’ say you ‘wouldn’t call y’ self queer’-?” He mutters, quietly coaxing a response.

Andy huffs out a laugh. The pink in his cheeks returns.

“I’d never thought about it.” He replies. Uncertain if that’s the philosophical answer Eddie’s looking for, he hastily adds; “I got sucked off by my college football coach a couple of times.”

The grin on Hillbilly’s face is priceless. All encouragement and never a hint of mockery, his own blush appearing as he realises how much he adores this man. The words are delightful to hear.

“Oh, yeah?” He says. God, he wants to hear this.

“One of the recent graduates, couple of years above me-” Andy keeps it brief and isn’t bragging. “He came back to coach for a summer in my second year.”

The captain eyes his hand distractedly, the one running back and forth against Eddie’s thigh.

“Before that, it was just fooling around with the football team- Handjobs and the like. Oh, and one of my collegemates asked me to fuck him once.” Ack Ack’s chuckle is uncharacteristically nervous, despite the fake confidence he’s using to admit his perceived flaws. “Not exactly an impressive list.”

Everything he does is impressive but clearly Hillbilly is the only one with working eyes here. He doesn’t comment and merely draws his fingers from those blond locks, running a palm over Andy’s cheek. It brings out that handsome smile and Eddie’s heart soars.

“It don’t matter.” The lieutenant says. “Doesn’t bother me.”

Who cares. He’s got enough experience for the both of them. Nobody’s keeping score on who’s got their dick wet more. (Hillbilly suspects it’s the only competition in which he’d wipe the floor with his captain.)

Truthfully, he _does_ care.

Not in the way Andy suspects. Eddie’s got no desire to be taking anyone’s virginity – hilarious as that concept is in their line of romance – nor lauding it like some kind of trophy. It’s something he actively avoids and the occasions that he _has_ accidentally been someone’s first experience are exactly that; accidental. (And uncomfortable.)

Thank fuck for college football teams.

“You sure?” Ack Ack asks.

In response, Eddie stands up. That hand on his thigh is reluctant to leave but it slides off obediently once he’s upright.

Hillbilly looks stern.

“Depends.” He teases. His hands are back in Andy’s hair, who hums with satisfaction. “Y’ sure you wanna fuck me?”

The groan the captain releases is all the answer necessary. Tipped with pleasure and excited by mere words, it pulls Eddie’s grin wider. Seeing this man come undone is going to be a memory he cherishes.

Hillbilly pulls off his tie. He tosses it away without looking and starts unbuckling his belt. It clatters to the floor, Andy’s gaze following his hands hungrily. He can’t pull his eyes away.

Eddie knows what he’s doing. He’s had the practice.

His shirt is tugged free from his slacks and he doesn’t bother undoing any buttons. That kind of slow striptease isn’t to his tastes, the fabric pulled over his head to get his chest on show. All toned muscles and long limbs and faded tattoos.

Andy blows out his cheeks. With his poker face in tatters, he can finally show what he’d wanted to during their sparring session. (Which, since everything’s out in the open, they can admit was a ruse. A dangerous, unsubtle ruse, that had resulted in two unfulfilled boners.) His eyes are hooded and he drags his gaze over every inch of skin. Politeness and decorum gone, his smile is lustful and his desire blatant.

Good, he’s getting everything Eddie’s willing to give. And _everything_ is on the table.

Hillbilly drops his shirt and slips off his socks using only his feet. (He’s learned to avoid the awkward hopping from using his hands.) That leaves his slacks, and this is where he bothers with the buttons. Popping them open one by one, few that there are.

Andy’s fists curl into the sheets. He hasn’t the confidence to touch yet and that’s alright. He’ll get there. Besides, Eddie likes putting on this show. He doesn’t get to very often. (Doesn’t _want to_ very often. Few men deserve this kind of attention.)

Finished with his fly buttons, he stops. His slacks remain around his hips, the outline of his cock clear through the fabric. Without a word, he takes Andy’s chin and makes sure they’re looking at each other.

“Can y’ take this off?” Eddie asks softly. His free hand tugs on the man’s shirt collar.

A breathless “Yep-!” escapes the captain and he pulls the garment over his head. It’s tossed onto the growing pile against the floorboards.

Hillbilly hums appreciatively. He loves what he sees.

Their sparring was just a taste, a teasing glimpse. The warm evening sun and red shadows of the bedroom create the perfect angles on Andy’s broad chest. He’s free of tattoos and that’s a welcome change. Mixing up the scenery keeps things interesting. (Eddie hopes he won’t be changing scenery ever again. He’ll take that tender thought to his grave.)

Both shirtless, Eddie nods and decides he can continue. He teasingly hooks his thumbs into his slacks, as if he might finally pull them off. He almost misses Ack Ack’s excited inhale.

But the lieutenant pulls his grip away. His captain’s inhale turns to an exhale, open mouthed and disappointed. Above his teasing victim, Hillbilly chuckles. Eager boy. He flicks Andy’s chin lightly.

No pressure is needed here. There’s no rush.

“Y’ can touch me however you like.” Eddie says. New to this guiding role as he is, he feels he should voice the obvious. It might not be as obvious as he thinks. “You don’t gotta ask.”

“I feel like I should.” Ack Ack says.

His hands are on his lieutenant’s thighs regardless. The outside, kneading the muscles through his slacks exploratively. It’s a strong and loving grip. Andy receives fingers against his cheek in gratitude, a touch he leans into.

Their hands retract eventually. Hillbilly leans on the mattress to get down on his knees.

“ _Oh_.” His captain whispers as he realises what’s happening.

Nothing else comes out, though his toes curl against the floorboards. The movement is as cute as his surprise, thrilled that Eddie’s going to give him a blowjob. Like that hasn’t always been on the cards, from the moment they shook hands.

That has Hillbilly’s grin slanting in mischievous joy. His cheeks ache and he knows there’s no cure. This man is unravelling him about as quickly as he’s returning the favour. He’ll have to pick up the pace before he cums from adoration alone.

Resting his elbows either side of his captain’s thighs, Eddie starts undoing the buttons of his slacks. His fingers work quickly and he keeps it casual, no seductive eye contact. This isn’t a big deal, he wants that to be the tone.

“Hope y’ don’t mind.” He talks nonchalantly as he opens up Ack Ack’s pants, revealing his standard issue underwear and outline of his cock. “I’m real eager to suck you off.”

Well, it’s the truth. The strangled hum he hears assures him it’s a welcome one.

The sound changes as Hillbilly slips his fingers under Andy’s underwear; a low, huffing groan to mark the man’s cock being freed from his boxers.

It’s the lieutenant’s turn to let out a strangled giggle. Half excitement, half disbelief. He really _cannot_ catch a break when it comes to size.

He’ll sinfully admit – as with everything about his captain – that Ack Ack’s cock is perfect. Above average and girthy, flush where Hillbilly strokes his hand up and down. All very distracting, his thumb running over the underside as he admires it.

“Go easy on me.” Andy chuckles.

He’s regained his usual confidence, what with his cock out and Eddie staring at it longingly. Pretty obvious approval. Always a good start to an evening fuck.

“Hope I can live up t’ your expectations.” Hillbilly mumbles, lips already brushing against hot skin.

He must really like this man because he’s never modest about his head skills.

Showing is better than telling. Eddie takes the time to run his tongue over the underside of Andy’s cock, holding his length steady as moves all the way up, base to head. A trail of saliva is left in his wake, marking his territory for tonight. The almost pained gasp he hears tells him he’s made a good first impression.

A pleased hum escapes Hillbilly before he takes the head in his mouth, sucking gently in time with the movement of his hand. Back and forth, experienced fingers running up and down. The bob of his throat is rhythmic, neither teasingly slow nor enthusiastically fast.

It’s the perfect pace. The soft “Shit-!” Andy gulps out can confirm.

Eddie continues without comment.

He adjusts his knees, left hand supporting his weight against the bedframe. His right is busy doing his best work, strokes becoming shorter as he takes more into his mouth. Each bob of his head pushes Ack Ack’s cock deeper, every retreat of his lips pulling all but the tip free.

It’s all deliberate, the lieutenant taking his time to work his way down, swallowing once he feels the head pass into his throat. His hand releases, the grip no longer needed. He feels his captain’s pubic hair tickle his nose. The man’s cock is pressed all the way in and Eddie holds himself right there, forcing his gag reflex away easily. He’s had practice; he can take it.

The shudder he feels wrack Andy’s muscles is what he longs for. It’s a trembling that accompanies the captain’s hissed “ _Fuck_ -!”.

Hillbilly’s hand is on Ack Ack’s thigh, feeling his reactions and rubbing encouragingly.

Chest hitching where his gag reflex threatens to return, Eddie pulls his head back. His grunt is open mouthed and full of pleasure as he pulls off Andy’s cock, feeling it slide out his throat and spring back against the man’s abdomen. The skin is left shiny and slick, a trail of spit falling to the floor from Hillbilly’s panting mouth.

His captain doesn’t miss a beat. Despite trying to steady his own breathing, he reaches out and runs his thumb over his lieutenant’s lips.

“ _Fuck_.” Ack Ack mutters breathlessly. It’s a compliment.

“I’m not done yet.” Eddie says around his smile.

His right hand has already returned to his partner’s length, starting up a steady handjob. He wastes no time on these matters, keen to get back in the fray. Already longing to taste this man’s cock against his tongue, call him a slut for it. He’ll graciously accept the title.

“Be careful.” Andy laughs, running a loving hand over the marine’s cheek, “You’ll make me cum too soon.”

“I don’t mind.” Hillbilly admits with a shrug. He doesn’t stop stroking his captain’s cock.

Really, he doesn’t. Besides, he’s certain that, even after cumming himself, Ack Ack will be very happy to give him a helping hand. Or helping mouth. Which sounds fantastic, second only to his captain fucking him senseless.

“I do.” Andy laughs, pinching his lieutenant’s cheek.

Damn that smile. It absorbs the growl Eddie elicits and converts it to an unimpressed huff.

Those fingers move to his curls where he ducks his head. He thinks he’ll play less tenderly in this second instance, holding the base of Ack Ack’s cock with his hand. Keeping it right where he wants it; Hillbilly leans forward and slides it back down his throat.

He feels the man turn his face skywards, cussing something incoherent. That grip in Eddie’s curls tightens into a fist, moving with his head as he bobs up and down.

The tip of Andy's cock hits the back of his throat and the slight pain spurs the lieutenant forward. He relishes the sensation, rubbing him raw as he feels his own length straining against his slacks. There’s a wet patch on the fabric, desperate to be touched but torturing himself instead. He’s busy attending to the superior officer in the room, a thought that has him almost gagging with delight.

As his mouth continues to slide rapidly over Andy’s cock, that fist in his hair comes into play. His captain becomes dissatisfied with simply allowing the rhythm Hillbilly sets. Ack Ack pulls on his curls suddenly, dragging Eddie’s mouth off his cock with a soft pop.

The lieutenant moans, lips wet and parted, his chest heaving as he pants from exertion. He looks gorgeous and it’s a sight to admire.

Andy certainly enjoys it, having paused to check he wasn’t doing something unwanted. From the expression Hillbilly gives him, he can tell his fist in those curls is greatly appreciated.

Shakily, still cautious of taking control, Ack Ack guides Eddie’s head back towards him. The captain has a hand on himself, thumb and forefinger at the base of his cock as he angles it forward. The tip meets Hillbilly’s mouth and they both release soft groans.

Andy closes his eyes. He holds his lieutenant still, the man on his knees obediently refraining from swallowing his length again. Ack Ack’s cock is rubbed teasingly against Eddie’s lips, sliding against them as the marine smiles. His hot breath tickles the sensitive skin and has his captain shuddering.

“You’re really good at this.” Andy whispers. Behind the praise, his voice is close to cracking.

He’s not the only one. Hillbilly’s blushing, his snort bashful rather than smug. It’s covered by a sloppy grin.

“Thanks.” He mutters. He means it.

As Ack Ack’s hand moves over his cock, feeling the slickness left behind, he releases a nervous chuckle. Behind his eyes, thoughts are beginning to erupt, distracting him. He bites his lip. Did he not have both his hands busy, gripping himself and his lieutenant’s hair, he’d be running a finger over his top lip.

“I- Er-“ He swallows. “I was wondering if I could-?”

Whatever the question is, it trails off. He reconsiders and looks down at Eddie with an apologetic smile. Like he’s crossed a line without even saying anything.

“If you want to keep doing this, I’d really like that.” He says instead. “You’re amazing.”

Flattery will get him _anywhere_. Hillbilly doesn’t miss the unfinished question, however, keen eyes narrowed and studying his captain’s face. He feels that grip retract from his hair, coming to rest on his shoulder. It squeezes tenderly.

Eddie moves his hands to his partner’s thighs. He rubs comforting circles and squeezes back, his smile encouraging.

“Andy, if y’ want me t’ just suck you off, I’m happy t’ oblige.” He says. “But if there’s somethin’ else, you should say.”

His captain’s smile erupts with his blush, caught in his mischievous suggestion. (It can’t be anything shocking, Hillbilly’s sure of that. Nothing can beat the filthy things sailors have asked him for.)

With a short sigh, Eddie pushes himself to his feet. Towering over his captain again, he takes a moment to crack the joints of his knees. The winces they both give are followed by giggles. It’s important to have a sense of humour about these things.

Hillbilly reaches out and cups Andy’s jaw. He uses his other hand to pull down his slacks. He takes his underwear with them, kicking both off.

Ack Ack’s dick visibly twitches once Eddie’s underwear falls. His smile is slanted, his eyes alight as he glances over his lieutenant’s cock. Though not as big as his captain’s, Hillbilly’s not shy in the slightest and runs his hand over his shaft. The skin moves back and forth, shifting to reveal his head fully. Flush and slick with precum, having been painfully rubbing against the inside of his pants.

Andy lets go of his dick and runs his hands up his company’s bare thighs. Over the outside, digging his fingers into the muscles. It takes considerable effort to tear his gaze from where Eddie’s stroking himself – barely a foot in front of Andy’s face, the perfect height to use his mouth – looking up to the man’s face.

Hillbilly smiles down at him, expression pleased and curls tussled. The hand still on Ack Ack’s cheek shifts, running a thumb over his captain’s parted lips. The sensation is satisfying for all parties, their exhales sluggish.

“How about, we get up on that bed-“ Eddie explains, tone soft and reassuring, “-an’ see how things go?”

It’s a punch to the gut, how relieved Andy looks. An expression that’s far from tears, but could get there eventually; all adoring grin and huffed chuckle. At least Hillbilly knows he’s doing something right in leading this particular endeavour, maybe even a good job.

Ack Ack is comfortable with him. He should have known that, looking back on their time spent together. Stupid, really, that neither of them noticed, between staggering drunkenly in each other’s arms and cuddling in the movie theatre.

There’s nothing left to hide at this point. Everything's on show, and they’re both still hard and eager to touch.

Andy scoots back up the bed, pulling his pants and underwear all the way off. They're discarded as Eddie presses his knee against the mattress, crawling after him.

Sitting against the headboard, the captain’s quick to reach out and take his company’s face in both hands. He pulls weakly, afraid of offending.

Hillbilly follows the tug without resistance. He wants this man to know he can do that; position his partner where he’s wanted. He ends up with his lips against Ack Ack’s, pressing them into a deep kiss. It becomes breathless, both of them remembering what simple kissing had managed earlier.

Their tongues move against each other, Andy’s confidence restored with something that he knows. He drags his teeth over Eddie’s bottom lip and smirks at the growl it elicits. Either side of his captain’s shoulders, Hillbilly slams both hands on the headboard. He pushes hard into the kiss, knocking his partner's skull back against the wood.

They break apart instantly.

“Sorry-!” Eddie pants, condemning his usual roughness.

The irritation in Ack Ack’s panting isn’t from pain. His grip on Hillbilly’s face tugs hard, shoving their mouths back together. They both grunt, kissing turning aggressive as their teeth catch. A hand comes off the headboard and buries itself in Andy’s hair, forcing him to keep their tongues moving together. (And cushioning him from the headboard too.)

Neither of them are willing to let up, even as their breaks for air become desperate gasps. This isn’t a competitive game, it’s a team effort. Neither officer acts the part, content to keep kissing sloppily and rattling the headboard.

On his knees, Eddie’s straddling the other man’s thighs. A particularly rough shove brings their cocks together, brushing the hot skin. It’s intimate and it has them both shuddering. Their moans grow louder for the simple contact and Hillbilly craves more.

He spreads his legs, opening his thighs so he can rub their lengths against one another, Andy’s slick with spit and the skin sliding blissfully. His lieutenant does the work, rolling his hips back and forth in a deliberate rhythm. It relies on Eddie’s strength and masterful control to keep pace.

His resolve stops them from rutting like teenagers until they both cum.

When their lips eventually break apart, Ack Ack’s breathing is shaky.

His fingers are digging painfully into his partner’s hips in the hopes of spurring him to move faster. No matter how hard he squeezes, he can’t seem to force Hillbilly to speed up. That perfect back and forth, back and forth continues. The motion has Eddie’s muscles flexing.

It’s too much. It leaves Andy whining and biting down hard on his bottom lip.

“Fuck, that’s-!” He swallows and it does nothing to wet his throat. His mouth’s dry and his eyes are transfixed by their lengths rubbing together, the roll of his partner’s hips a fascinating dance to admire. “That feels really good-!”

His lieutenant distracts him with a kiss, dipping his head to capture Ack Ack’s mouth. It’s chaste but firm, relieving some of the tension that’s crawling up from the captain’s gut. Andy whimpers gratefully.

“Y’know, there’s something else.” Eddie whispers breathlessly, rolling the words over his partner’s lips.

He presses no further.

He’s the guide tonight. That doesn’t mean he’ll be dragging them down his preferred route by force.

He suspects they’re both interested in the proposition. He’s proven right by Andy’s smile.

“There is.” The captain agrees.

He glances down. One hand strokes Hillbilly’s nape. The other takes Eddie’s cock in his grip and slow, delicate strokes roll over the skin.

It feels nice on both accounts. Andy’s skills aren’t bad; he just needs the confidence to tighten his fingers.

His enraptured stare makes up for it, beautifully focused on his work. He’s forgotten his own erection, busy enjoying his lieutenant’s instead. The soft skin is pushed back and he can see the flush, leaking tip. The sight has Ack Ack licking his lips.

Hillbilly keeps his grunts soft, pulled from his chest with each stroke of his captain’s hand. He plants a thankful, encouraging kiss to the man’s forehead. His lips rest there, humming as he delights in the lazy handjob he’s receiving.

Strange, how he doesn’t usually take this much care or express this kind of patience. He can’t remember a last time like this, between pulling his pants down and shoving a cock down his throat or in his ass.

It leaves a weight on his chest he’s unfamiliar with. Heavy and warm and what he might call love, if he knew the word well. He doesn’t and he has to pretend nothing can surprise him tonight, for his captain’s sake.

“I want you t’ fuck me, Andy.” Hillbilly mutters, sitting back on his knees.

He wants their eyes to meet. His hands rest against the headboard, caging his partner between his arms. The movement of Andy’s hand doesn’t stop, though it slows, faltering as he looks up.

His gaze is excited, hesitant, a little scared, and very, very affectionate. He’s nodding slowly, coming to terms with the idea.

“If being on top needs more experience,” He says carefully, “I can always be the one to…”

He trails off, clearly uncomfortable with his own suggestion. His weak smile is accompanied by a shrug. At best, he’s apathetic to the idea of being fucked. At worst, he’s terrified of it.

He bravely suggests it anyway.

Eddie chuckles and plants another kiss to his forehead. They’re in luck; his captain’s assumption is complete bullshit.

“Other way around, darlin’.” Hillbilly huffs. The humour’s genuine and kind.

“Oh.” Andy takes the loss on the chin, a toothy grin erupting as he laughs at himself. “I didn’t realise.”

The grip he has around Eddie’s cock speeds up its movements. He pumps his lieutenant’s dick with renewed confidence, settling back into eased tensions from harmless assumptions. It has Hillbilly grunting, lips curling against the pleasure.

If they do this again, he’s going to get this man to give him a nice, slow handjob. Perhaps as a reward for the service he’s about to provide.

“Do y’ wanna fuck me?” Eddie asks. It’s muttered against Andy’s ear, his lips close enough to brush the skin.

He takes that skin in his teeth, delicately and never biting. He follows it with his tongue, running over Ack Ack’s earlobe. Even with a warm hand stroking his cock, Hillbilly knows his old tricks.

Andy’s moan is beautiful. It finishes with him managing to speak, pulling his ear away so he can lock eyes with his lieutenant.

“Yes.” He breathes, struggling to keep his composure. “Please.”

His reward is another kiss. Eddie laps at his lips, coaxing them open so he can slide his tongue inside. Their mouths move sluggishly, taking their time to cover the shift of Hillbilly’s weight. He’s moving his hips back, separating their bodies and escaping the grip on his cock. Ack Ack’s hands move to his face, holding him while they kiss.

Eddie has to pull his head away too, torturous as that is.

He shuffles only as far as he must, while his captain rests against the headboard. Rest is the right word; Andy’s closed eyes and heavy sigh rattle the mattress. His head falls back against the wood and he takes a moment to breathe.

Hillbilly makes an educated guess in the meantime.

He slides open the drawer of the bedside cabinet. Success stares back at him in the form of its contents; a tin of Vaseline and several condoms. He knows homosexuals and, even if his captain isn’t one, this is exactly as expected. Very telling as to Ack Ack’s time spent upstairs alone, too.

Eddie’s pleased and he wears the smirk to match.

He puts the condom between his teeth and crawls back over to his previous position, Vaseline in hand. He straddles Andy’s lap again. Their cocks brush sensitively, hot skin against hot skin. This time, Hillbilly lets them rest like that.

It’s intimate and he has to glance down to check it’s real. He sighs happily around the condom in his mouth.

He almost drops the Vaseline, he’s so distracted. (He catches it. Hand-to-hand combat reflexes.) His thoughts are wandering in some lustful haze, having done nothing more than part his legs and sit over his captain’s thighs.

He’d say that’s pathetic but his opinion is rapidly changing within the confines of this bedroom. All the stupid, romantic bullshit he’d gone without is suddenly here, piled up high on a plate Andy is presenting him.

It feels _wonderful_.

Ack Ack’s fingers brush his lieutenant’s cheek tenderly, other hand moving to their cocks. He runs a loose grip over both their lengths, holding them together under slow strokes.

Eddie groans softly. He likes that.

Under Andy’s attentive gaze, Hillbilly twists open the tin. He finds several large helpings already missing, finger marks in the jelly. He doesn’t comment. Would certainly be hypocritical of him to do such a thing.

He places the Vaseline against the sheets. In more urgent business, he takes the condom from between his teeth. The packaging tears and the latex is taken between his fingers.

A hand settles over his own. Ack Ack squeezes once then pries the condom from his grasp.

For the briefest, scariest, shittiest second, Eddie wonders if it’s the protection being rejected. He pales and terrible thoughts ricochet around his skull. If Andy takes the condom and tosses it away, is this going to continue regardless?

Logic says no. Jury says no. Instinct says no.

Hillbilly’s erection says _yes_ , however; he’d definitely let his captain bareback him. No point lying to himself about it. They can add it to the lengthy stupidity list that’s lead them here.

Luckily, the thought goes nowhere. Ack Ack’s pulled his cock away from his partner’s – sad as they are to lose the intimate contact – and is rolling the condom over his length.

Eddie swallows his sigh of relief. _Hard_. It slides down his throat like a ton of bricks.

While it turns him on to watch his captain work – to listen to the whispered moan he gives, to catch how attentive he is in rolling the latex all the way to the base – Hillbilly has other duties.

Two fingers in the Vaseline scoop up a generous helping, the lieutenant pushing up on his knees so he can reach behind himself. One hand on the bedframe for support, he slides those two fingers into his hole. It’s an easy fit, the irritation he feels the legacy of last night’s fucking. It’s a sting he’s used to.

Eddie scissors his fingers and spreads the Vaseline as best he can. Which is pretty damn well, all around the ring of muscle and deep inside. He’s determined to be the best sex his captain’s had, though he suspects it’s not a difficult competition to win.

Not needing to look over his shoulder to fuck himself on three fingers, Hillbilly keeps his attention on Andy. The man’s stroking his wrapped cock absentmindedly, squinting as he tries to catch a glimpse of what his partner’s doing. It’s not for any scientific purposes; it turns him on. His dick twitches in his hand as he desperately tries to peek at Eddie’s work.

The lieutenant indulges him with a low chuckle.

“Wanna watch?” He asks.

He’s ready, two fingers and a scoop of Vaseline will suffice. He could’ve only spread it on Ack Ack’s cock and they’d have been better than fine.

The way his captain glances up at him, beaming with excitement, is worth taking the extra time. Andy nods vigorously. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

 _Cute_.

Hillbilly shuffles back over the mattress, putting some unwanted distance between them. A real shame, he’d liked straddling his captain’s lap. (He’ll be back at it soon.) His ass falls against the bed. He has to retract his slick fingers while he spreads his thighs, knees up and stiff cock on show.

The heel of his hand supports his weight behind him, the other threaded down between his legs. He looks at Andy, fingers hovering over his hole. Also on display, all for his captain’s pleasure.

Pleasure is the right word. Ack Ack’s teeth are gritted as he stares longingly at what’s presented for him. With a dark smile, Eddie flexes his hole. It widens enticingly, slick with Vaseline, then puckers again. The lieutenant repeats the teasing action, watching his captain intently.

“ _Fuck_.” Andy growls. Low and breathless and running out of air at the end.

He shudders, the grip around his cock white at the knuckles. He’s working hard to remain seated, back against the headboard. The twitch of his thigh gives him away. There’s sweat on his forehead.

Hillbilly hums. Drawn out and lazy, smug to the highest degree. He catches Ack Ack’s eyes and grins crookedly. Oh, he should be more kind. Shame on him for the cruelty.

Eddie doesn’t care. He loves the flex he sees at Andy’s temple where he clenches his jaw.

“I’m inexperienced, lieutenant.” Ack Ack states firmly. His voice is slightly hoarse and that only makes it more arousing. “Not some helpless virgin.”

Head tilted forward, eyes shadowed by his hair, his expression is stern. The victim of his glare is reminded why one of then holds the rank of captain. Dominating would be an understatement.

“Either give me something to watch,” Andy muses, his casual tone failing to cover the heat in his voice, “Or I’m coming over there.”

Fuck, if that doesn’t send a shiver up Hillbilly’s spine. He lets his grin reveal his gritted teeth. He’s unashamed of the pride he feels, having drawn those words out in such a short time. Being commanded will always stir something visceral in his gut, even if the lieutenant knows it’s all talk. ( _Suspects_ it’s all talk. He’ll test the theory at their next rodeo.)

For now, Eddie nods obediently. “Yes, skipper.” He growls out, his submission never quelling the impatient arousal in his gut.

When Andy speaks like that, it becomes harder to carry on with tender care. He should know better than to challenge his lieutenant, who is perfectly happy to pin his captain down and ride him until he howls.

Obedience takes precedent. There’s no rush so Hillbilly reaches down and slides his finger back inside himself. Just one, at first, that fails to stretch him at all. There’s no resistance and he grunts nonchalantly as he moves the digit in and out.

Ack Ack’s domineering façade crumbles at the edges, though he’s valiantly clinging to it. He subtly bites his bottom lip and says nothing, enraptured by the show. The way his hand flexes on his cock is very telling.

That has Hillbilly’s dick twitching impatiently. He’s achingly hard but he’s got to be professional. If he’s going to claim to be a master at work, he better fucking act like it.

Two fingers easily replace the first, beginning to stretch him slightly. It feels better but not enough. The hand Eddie has behind him, keeping him upright, has fisted in the sheets where his company can’t see. He doesn’t want his desperation revealed, not until his captain’s inside him.

A third digit slides past his hole and that has Hillbilly moaning. That’s it, that’s the stretch he needs. (Or as close as his fingers can provide.) His hand speeds up; he stops his teasing and starts fucking himself. The fast pace has a shiny drop of Vaseline forced out by the friction. It slides down between his ass cheeks, disappearing onto the sheets.

Andy fucking groans. He closes his eyes and can’t watch anymore. He stops stroking himself and squeezes the base of his cock, keeping him from cumming.

Smart move.

Eddie chuckles and pushes himself back onto his knees. There’s a quiet squelch where his fingers are pulled free. He crawls up the bed and repositions himself in Ack Ack’s lap.

He’s done teasing. _He’s done waiting_.

He wipes the excess Vaseline over his captain’s cock. Andy retracts his hand but gives Hillbilly a warning glance. He’s breathing heavily through his nose.

Eddie gets the hint. He spreads the lubricant carefully, his grip looser than he’d like. It’d be a shame if Ack Ack cums before getting a taste of what his lieutenant’s prepared for him.

In one final tease, Hillbilly brings his hand to his lips. He laps away any slickness that remains there, running his tongue over his fingers with a frown, like it’s nothing unusual.

That has Andy laughing in despair, head falling forward to rest against Eddie’s chest. His hands have found a cautious grip around his partner’s hips. He doesn’t tighten his hold.

“Y’ ready?” The lieutenant asks. It comes out softer than he expects.

“Think if we wait any longer, I might die.” Ack Ack jokes. He leans back against the headboard again.

Beneath his thighs, legs spread over Andy’s lap, Hillbilly can feel the man tremble. With excitement, mostly, but there’s nerves under his skin. Alight and alert and still fretful.

Eddie places his hand on the headboard. He can use it to lift his hips, start up the main event. He forces himself to wait, let Ack Ack adjust to the arm beside his head and the smiling face inches from his own.

Hillbilly leans in and kisses him. Gently, chastely, letting their lips brush and enjoying the sensations left behind.

“I’m ready.” Andy whispers, knowing the words' importance.

His lieutenant’s glad to hear it. He hums happily. He pushes his tongue into Ack Ack’s mouth, hot and slow.

The grip on Eddie’s hips squeezes.

Hillbilly pushes up onto his knees. He shifts closer, never allowing their mouths to part. He wants his captain’s lips against his when the man pushes inside him, wants to feel his shudders first-hand and taste the moans he lets out.

Positioned with his ass above Andy’s cock, the lieutenant reaches down between them. He grips the base of Ack Ack’s length, running halfway up to get the hold he wants.

He guides his captain’s cock to his hole, pressing the tip against the muscle. A heartbeat passes, a hitch in their kissing where Andy inhales sharply.

With all the care he can muster, Hillbilly lowers himself onto the man’s cock. The slick head presses inside easily, the ring of muscle barely protesting. Unable to stop himself, Eddie lets out a low “ _Shit-!_ ”, knees bending to bring him towards the mattress.

He settles down in Ack Ack’s lap, letting his length slide all the way inside. He feels his captain’s balls against his ass, buried to the hilt and filling him completely.

Hillbilly’s eyes roll back. He closes them briefly, his groan loud and shuddering and exquisite to hear.

“Fuck, Andy-!” He grunts.

He’s clutching the headboard hard enough to snap. His other hand’s on Andy’s shoulder, digging his nails into the muscle. It feels fucking fantastic and God, Eddie’s forgotten what his role’s supposed to be tonight. Lost to the first thrust, what a poor show.

Beneath him, Ack Ack’s gasping and gripping his hips bruisingly hard. Those beads of sweat are visible on his temple. Jaw clenched, eyes shut, and thighs twitching.

Looking down on that, Eddie’s shaken.

His expression crumbles, weak to the sight of his partner enjoying him so intimately. Andy’s gorgeous and it’s only multiplied by the laboured movement of his chest, the overwhelming lust in his eyes when he glances up, the way his tongue moves over his lips.

“I think I’m gonna cum.” He gasps. He sounds ashamed, upset even.

Hillbilly laughs. Never has he been happier to hear someone say that. He takes Ack Ack’s face in his hands; another gentle kiss is left on his lips.

“ _Good_.” Eddie says. “Whenever y’ ready.”

His knees shift and he’s about to roll his hips. Use his second-best skill – riding cock like a champ – to bring his captain to a fantastic climax.

That idea grinds to a halt. Those two hands on his hips clench and it _hurts_ , pulling him down. Hillbilly hisses. He’s kept exactly where he’d settled, unable to go any lower and Andy’s cock buried all the way inside him.

“ _Wait_.” Ack Ack whispers.

It’s commanding and breathless and pleading all in one. _Desperate_ , that’s what, and it has Eddie swallowing thickly.

That warmth in his chest grows. No sailor has ever wanted him that intensely or been so anxious to please. And nobody has _ever_ put their orgasm on hold to share their pleasure, that’s for damn sure.

He’s never experienced this and, now he has it, he wants it forever.

After another hard swallow, the lieutenant pushes his internal distractions aside. He nods.

“Kiss me.” He replies. That’s the payment he wants for waiting.

Andy’s happy to pay up.

They kiss eagerly, both humming when their lips meet. They’ve forgotten how perfect it feels in the moments without. Their smiles get in the way where they want their tongues to meet.

Finally, that grip on Eddie’s hips slackens. Bruises are left in the shape of Ack Ack’s hands.

With painful, doting care, Hillbilly lifts himself up a fraction. Half an inch, then another, the thump of his heart outrunning the rise of his hips by miles. There’s no sound to his moan as Andy’s cock slides out of him, his breath lost to his captain’s mouth.

As he reaches the perfect height, only the tip still past his hole, Eddie realises his thighs are trembling.

His breathing’s shaky as he meets Ack Ack’s gaze, those eyes wide and shining. He’s beautiful and he looks at Hillbilly like he’s the finest masterpiece he’s ever glimpsed. (When Eddie’s chest hitches in response – once and _quietly_ , the tiniest inhale – he tells himself it’s not a repressed sob. He’s lying.)

He gets the joy of watching Andy’s expression as he sinks back down, his captain’s length sliding back inside. The thick girth at the base stretches the lieutenant’s hole, leaving him whimpering in ecstasy.

Another pause holds them steady. They share breath, lips close enough to brush.

“How’s it feel?” Hillbilly breathes.

Ack Ack eyelids flutter as he sighs. Any remaining tension leaves on his exhale.

“Perfect.” He whispers. “You’re incredible.”

A firm kiss shuts him up. If he notices that his lieutenant can’t stomach such compliments, he’s too preoccupied to comment.

Eddie’s fingers tangle in his captain’s hair. (He’s got the strength to move without the headboard’s help. It lets him enjoy another messy kiss, all open mouths and strings of spit.)

It’s a hard choice, whether he wants to feel Andy’s lips on his or sit back to watch him come undone.

Hillbilly opts for the latter, pulling back from the kiss. Fingers in those blond locks, he rolls his hips and starts thrusting down on Ack Ack’s cock. The pace is leisurely and even, up and down his captain’s length. Each bob of his ass is a gasp, panting with his mouth open and eyes half closed.

It feels so good because they’ve taken their time. He pretends that’s the only reason.

The headboard knocks the wall in time with their movement. Those strong hands leave Eddie’s hips to run up his sides, over worn tattoos and sweat-soaked skin, enjoying every inch on offer. Their words are lost to breathless huffs, pleasure on every exhale. The pace picks up, Hillbilly whimpering as he thrusts his hips back harder. Their thighs slap against one another, the lieutenant fucking himself unrepentantly on his captain’s cock.

Eddie buries his face in Andy’s neck. He tastes the sweat on his throat as he rocks back against that incredible pleasure. The open-mouthed kiss he presses to Ack Ack’s skin covers his filthy, beautiful moans. The friction on his length, rubbing against the other man’s stomach, is driving him wild.

Against his ear, he hears his captain suck in a sharp, agonised breath.

“ _Eddie!_ ” He gasps, before a loud and painful grunt, his head abruptly thrown forward.

Andy’s forehead hits his partner’s collar, his grip on the man’s waist clenching hard. Blood beads under some of his nails where they break the skin. It’s worth the sting to hear Ack Ack’s whimper, feel the way his hips jerk violently, watch how he’s left trembling and gasping for air.

He cums hard and it’s everything Eddie longs for. The lieutenant quells his own noises by burying his face in the man’s neck.

He rides Andy through his climax. He soldiers on with aching knees and shaking thighs, sliding his captain’s cock in and out of him. The soft whine he receives for the trouble is heavenly, each thrust down another stroke of torture.

Ack Ack bears it and rides out the pain-tipped pleasure. He trusts Hillbilly to milk every last second of enjoyment for him.

Eventually, Eddie settles down in his lap. Inside him, he can feel Andy softening. He makes sure his captain’s cock is pressed deep before he stops. He wants to enjoy being this close for as long as he can.

He pulls away from Ack Ack’s neck and kisses him gently.

“ _Andy_...” He whispers.

There’s nothing else he can think about. This man is all that matters.

Kind fingers move into his curls. They run through them with the same love and care Hillbilly has strived to give this evening.

“Thank you…” Andy breathes.

The gratitude in his eyes is overflowing. It feels undeserved to the marine receiving it.

“God, I- I really like you, Eddie.” His captain licks his lips, sighing exhaustedly as he comes down from his orgasm, “I think I might even l-“

A finger is pushed fiercely against his lips. It presses hard as Eddie shakes his head.

“Don’t-” He pants between gulps for air. “Not now.”

Glancing over his sweaty, trembling, and still-hard lieutenant, Ack Ack mercifully nods. He understands.

The marine in his lap is tall, handsome, with expressive features and a talented mouth. There’s kindness buried in his eyes and strength that extends beyond the looming shadow he casts. It makes Andy’s chest ache to accept this man can handle deadly combat, but not affection.

He wants to ease whatever it is that makes that so. (Ack Ack is smart enough to know that can’t be done in one evening or with sex alone.)

The captain gently brushes his thumbs over the scratches on Hillbilly’s waist. He’d left those and he feels guilt for it. The blood isn’t much but he wipes it away anyway. Then his hands drag downward, gradually coming to cup Eddie’s ass. The muscles receive a tender squeeze, eliciting a grunt of approval.

Against his stomach, Andy can feel his lieutenant’s cock. Flushed and leaking, the skin soft and burning hot.

He parts Hillbilly’s ass cheeks with his hands. The grip lifts the marine up, letting Ack Ack’s cock slide from inside him. A soft, wet pop marks his soft length slipping free of Eddie’s hole, the muscle flexing as drops of melted Vaseline follow.

The lieutenant’s shiver rocks the mattress. “Fuck!” He mutters.

They sit like that, Andy’s hands kneading his partner’s ass as he studies his features. Equally infatuated eyes stare back, though Hillbilly’s have arousal still burning behind them. It’s placated by the knowledge that he’d volunteered to be the instructor tonight.

That, and he knows Ack Ack won’t just wave him out the door unsatisfied.

Speaking of, the captain’s wetting his lips to speak. (They’re flushed and split in places from their kissing.)

“Can I-“ He swallows and gets his request in order. “Can I try returning the favour?”

No longer panting like a dog in heat, Eddie thinks about it. His frown is concerned and he’s not sure he understands right.

“You don’t want me t' fuck you?” He questions.

Andy smiles around his huff.

“I’d let you if you wanted.” He admits.

Good, that wasn’t what he meant. Hillbilly’s not commonly interested, and is _definitely_ not interested tonight, reasons overflowing. Top two are his captain’s inexperience and his own physical exhaustion.

“Can I suck you off?” Ack Ack asks.

Without his blood being needed elsewhere, his cheeks are red again. The sight has Eddie grinning, knocking their damp foreheads together as he gets his breath back. His chest rises and falls in a heavy, exhausted rhythm.

“I’d like that-“ He huffs, “- _very much_.”

It’s a good answer and sets up their finale for the evening. Outside, the sun’s disappeared, leaving the room dark. Andy takes the time to reach over and pull the cord under the lampshade. Orange tones flicker over their skin as his hands stroke Eddie’s hips.

Then, with firm care, Ack Ack shuffles onto his knees. He rolls them over, much to his lieutenant’s surprise and delight. They flip and the mattress bounces, Hillbilly forced down against the sheets. He’s left slouching against the headboard.

Andy wastes no time in crawling down the bed. His limbs move expertly, shifting backwards on all fours until his thighs straddle Eddie’s calves. His head hovers over his company’s erect cock. With a grunt, he rolls the loose condom from his own dick, briefly sitting back on his haunches to tie it off. It’s tossed to one side.

“Just promise you’ll tell me if I do something wrong.” He orders, bring his eyes back to his partner.

Scratching his chin, Hillbilly laughs. “Why, you plannin’ on bitin’ me?”

The beautiful, _idiotic_ man who’s about to blow him fucking blinks.

“Should I?” Ack Ack asks. It’s painfully obvious he’s only half joking.

Reaching out, his lieutenant taps a finger against his lips. A scolding gesture, from teacher to student. Eddie speaks with stern, loving authority.

“Do _not_ bite me.” He whispers.

His captain’s grin is toothy and keeps his laugh quiet. He lowers himself to his elbows, right hand taking Hillbilly’s cock. The touch makes the tall marine grunt, low in his chest. His smile slips towards a snarl. He’s been missing out.

Cautiously, never tightening his fingers, Andy strokes his length. Shifting the skin with abject concentration, his eyes locked on Eddie’s face to gage his reaction. Tantilisingly, the captain leans in. He moves the head to his parted lips but doesn’t offer the heat of his mouth. Instead, he brushes the sensitive tip against his front teeth. The tiniest of contact, an accident perhaps.

Un-fucking-likely.

Hillbilly immediately has a grip in the man’s blond hair. A fistful is used to tug Ack Ack’s head away from him. It’s not a violent jerk, but it gets the grunt it deserves.

“Do not _tease me_ , either.” Eddie hisses.

God, his dick twitches watching Andy’s eyes. All wide and innocent and amazed. Not the look of someone who’s known this pleasure before. It’s one his lieutenant selfishly hogs; being directed in exactly how to please your lover.

Lucky Hillbilly’s generous. He’s very keen to share tonight.

He guides Ack Ack’s face back down. This time, an eager mouth arrives, hastily wrapping around his cock. Quick but soft strokes of Andy's hand match the bob of his lips, sucking the head enthusiastically. The lieutenant’s skull hits the headboard as he inhales deeply.

Feels good, he’ll admit that. He hasn’t got much patience left, he’ll admit that too. Enough that he won’t be forcibly fucking his captain’s throat, of course, but little more.

Ack Ack recognises his sigh. He ducks forward, sliding the entire length down his throat, until his lips brush his own fingers around the base. Overenthusiastic and desperate to perform. 

He chokes violently.

Admittedly, Eddie hadn't stopped him, even with a fist in his hair. (You gotta let them learn.) To make sure Andy doesn’t stay in that position – forcing himself to bear it and ending up puking – the lieutenant drags his head back up, however.

Worth the view; Ack Ack’s tongue is out and he’s panting hard. Saliva coats his lips and strings connect them to his partner’s cock.

From Hillbilly’s nose, he releases a quivering sigh.

“Slow down.” He instructs. “Or you’ll be sick.”

He takes no excuses or apologies. Doesn’t give Andy time to concoct them, tapping the hand he has around Eddie’s cock.

“Move y’ hand.” The marine orders. Despite his heaving chest, his captain starts up a steady pace. “ _Mnn_. Good.”

While he’s looking forward to that lazy handjob he’ll be demanding some time, Hillbilly’s nod isn’t satisfied yet.

“Tighten y’ grip.” He says and finds it immediately obeyed. Those warm fingers squeeze his length and he grunts happily. “Perfect.”

The word rides on his exhale as he feels the tension pooling in his gut. His fingers in Andy’s hair scratch his scalp appreciatively, encouraging him with praise. It works; the man smiles. His pumps of Eddie’s cock grow bolder, running up over the head and back. His spit makes it easier, faster, better.

Hillbilly hums. “Fuck.” He whispers.

They share smiles before he coaxes Ack Ack’s head back down. His captain’s caught his breath, swallowing enough times to soothe his raw throat. Cautiously, he runs his tongue up the underside of Eddie’s length. (Eddie realises Andy’s mimicking him. It’s flattering beyond belief.)

When he returns Eddie’s cock to his mouth, he’s careful, sucking the head tentatively. He’s worried he’ll fuck up again.

Strong fingers run through his locks. His embarrassed, joyful hum vibrates against the hot skin on his tongue.

“You’re doin’ good.” Eddie praises. “You don’t gotta deep throat me t’ make me cum.”

Truth, he’s straining already. Andy’s not as bad at this as he probably believes; his hand moves in time with the bobs of his head once he accepts the praise, finding a rhythm he can maintain. His fingers are slick with spit and his lips flushed, eyes slipping shut as he focuses all his attention on Hillbilly.

He looks fucking gorgeous. Eddie’s lustful growl is supposed to tell him so but it fails. (He’s no poet, that’s for sure.)

That hand in blond hair becomes a fist again, painfully tight. Enough to make Ack Ack whimper and, fantastically, pick up the pace. Wet slurps mark each forward thrust, taking more than just the head into his mouth. His hand meets his lips about halfway up Hillbilly’s length, the tip tickling his throat but no further.

“Shit-!“ The lieutenant whispers through gritted teeth. “Y’ better pull off, now, darlin’, or I’m gonna cum-"

Better to mention it. He’s not about to force Andy to swallow.

Force isn’t needed; Ack Ack hesitates only for a moment. A stutter in his pace as his eyes open and he digests the warning. The excitement in his expression, tip of Eddie’s cock on his tongue, is devilish. He’s _thrilled_.

Eagerly, the captain returns to his motions. Hand and mouth doing the work, shifting hot, taught skin back and forth. Stroking and sucking and leaving spit drops on Hillbilly’s thighs.

And when Eddie’s panting turns to a loud, drawling grunt through clenched teeth – his captain’s name mixed into the sound – Andy’s eyes flutter shut with joy. It’s everything he longs to hear.

The fist in his hair is a little less romantic, painful on his scalp where it jerks. It doesn’t push him lower, mercifully, though it keeps him in place; tip of Hillbilly’s cock pushed past his lips, head against the back of his tongue. Ack Ack’s shoulders tense and his moan is strangled as he feels hot cum hit his throat. It’s not terrible tasting, bland and slightly salty that it is.

It’s warm and comes out in two or three streaks. The captain’s eyes squeeze shut tightly as he coughs, choking with the length still in his mouth. He swallows determinedly.

The bedroom falls quiet.

That hand in his hair turns to petting again. It allows him to pull off, trailing saliva in his wake. Andy meets his lieutenant’s eyes.

Two marines, breathless and satisfied. They’re both panting.

Licking his lips and stifling another cough, Ack Ack opens his mouth. He parts his lips and shows his tongue, head tipped back. It reveals his empty mouth, filled only with spit.

He’s swallowed every drop. Hillbilly’s chuckle is dark as he shakes his head.

“Distgustin’.” He mutters. It's a compliment.

He uses Andy’s hair to pull him up the bed. A gentle incentive, bringing their lips back together. They kiss sluggishly, busy trying to get their breaths back. (Eddie doesn’t care much for the taste of his own cum but he’s desperate to get Ack Ack’s tongue back in his mouth.)

Hillbilly slides down from the headboard, taking the man on all fours with him. They end up lying down properly; a lieutenant on his back, chest pressed to his captain’s on top of him. Strong, tattooed arms wrap around Andy’s waist. Firm, loving hands card through Eddie’s damp curls.

They both sigh together.

“Any good?” The taller asks.

A strangled laugh reveals how Ack Ack feels for the question.

“Fuck off.” He huffs, resting his cheek against his lieutenant’s collar.

His ear is flicked – which has him humming, unamused – before he receives gentle fingers in his blond locks. Hillbilly strokes his hair and stares up at the ceiling. He’s thinking.

A dangerous game. He’s concerningly quiet despite their soft cocks pressing together, having just enjoyed an incredible fuck.

Andy knows what’s up. Because Andy knows _Eddie_ , can pinpoint the exact words he’s relaying over in his head. An unfinished confession, the only one left incomplete in an evening littered with their number.

“Eddie,” Ack Ack says firmly, “I really like you.”

Under his head, he feels the man’s breath hitch. Scared and vulnerable and nothing like the smirking marine who’d guided him through the best sex of his life. (That ache returns to Ack Ack’s chest. Deadly combat is fine but affection is not. What breeds that in a man, he wonders. And how easily can he rip it out.)

Andy props himself up on his elbows, chin against Hillbilly’s chest so they can look at each other. Well, so he can look at Hillbilly. The man beneath him is boring a hole in the ceiling with his eyes.

“I love you.” The captain states.

A Goddamn fact, a statement of principle. An honest truth, short and succinct and steady as his gaze. He’s back to being Captain Andrew Haldane, the man who walks through fire and brimstone to meet God toe-to-toe.

In a night of firsts, Eddie actually believes him.

He sniffs and he hastily rubs his fingers against his eyes. This isn’t how this evening’s supposed to go. They’re supposed to fuck then he’s supposed to collect his shit and leave.

That’s not right though, is it.

They aren’t supposed to fuck because Andy isn’t queer. And, if he is, then they're supposed to fuck differently. Rough and ready and without any quiet compliments.

They'd done something else.

World’s upside down, and the pressure Eddie’s forcing on his closed eyes isn’t righting it.

Feeling the tremble in his lieutenant’s shoulders, Ack Ack hastily takes his cheeks under his palms. He soothes over the skin with his hands, shushing and cooing and whispering soft reassurances. All about how it’s alright, how he doesn’t expect a response, there’s no need to return the sentiment, that he understands it’s a lot, hush now.

_It’s alright._

The world doesn’t realign itself but their roles do. Back to leader and loyal follower, into the depths of Hell if necessary. (Hillbilly realises he might have paved the way for that this evening. Ack Ack will remind him later, though words and actions and shared glances, that he is the master of their destinies. He’ll kick down Heaven’s gates with ease, his lieutenant in tow.)

Eddie returns his arms to his partner’s waist. He squeezes them together in a tight embrace while his face is held in Ack Ack’s warm hands. Their mouths meet and they kiss.

Through the tears, Lieutenant Jones makes sure to mumble his response against his captain’s lips.

“I love you too.” He says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A 'blue ticket' was slang for a blue discharge, a military discharge that was neither honourable nor dishonourable. It was used for homosexuality for a time. Though the use against gay men ended eventually, the blue ticket remained synonymous with queer soldiers and left many struggling to find jobs post-military as it was viewed as dishonourable.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the 20K words of porn! I really fucked up the chapter divide, I was too excited to post the first one so it's a little uneven on word counting but hey, what can you do? Thanks for reading!


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